


And O'er That Night the Snow Came Down

by Kavi Leighanna (kleighanna)



Category: NCIS: Los Angeles
Genre: AU - alternate universe, Christmas fic, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-25
Updated: 2014-11-22
Packaged: 2018-01-26 11:32:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 27,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1686815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kleighanna/pseuds/Kavi%20Leighanna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He meets her by fluke during the three-week lead up to his friend's wedding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea why I haven't been crossposting this from the beginning. Apparently I'm a crazy person. 
> 
> Unofficial Christmas fic 2014 that in pure Kavi form has obviously taken much longer.

He meets her by fluke.

His co-worker’s getting married – he uses coworker, but Eric’s very much more technical support – in a couple of weeks and has demanded that everyone present their faces at Nell’s annual Christmas party. Callen figures out why the minute he steps through the door.

Nell’s family is enormous. They’re considerate though. They’re all wearing ugly Christmas sweaters and antlers on heads. They’re hard to miss.

So is she.

Honestly, he’s not sure how he missed her. She’s standing against a back wall, nursing what looks like cider in a pretty cup. Everything’s pretty. Nell’s doing, Callen’s sure. He likes Nell, he really does, he just doesn’t understand how the hell she manages to keep up with Eric’s innate clumsiness. The man is a computer whiz, even shut down the internet on a couple of occasions for a case, but in the real world, he leaves a lot to be desired.

Usually, he doesn’t do the approaching. He’s not an unattractive man and he knows that too many years in a dangerous job gives off those bad boys vibes women are supposed to love. He’s content enough with what he’s got, really – a bunch of one-nighters that rarely, if ever, turn into multiple nighters – but this one intrigues him.

She looks worn out.

“You look like you could use something stronger.”

He almost berates himself the minute the words come out of his mouth. Really Callen? Really?

Her eyes flutter open though, mismatched and deep, but exhausted. She offers him a tiny smile. “I wish. This Christmas is hurting my eyes.”

He merely arches an eyebrow.

“Driving,” she offers. “I love Nell, dearly, but God, I hate this party.”

“Not a fan of Christmas?” he inquires, settling against the wall beside her. It’s only now that he’s so close he notices the tense, weary set of her shoulders, the anxieties that she’s carrying behind her eyes.

“I like the holiday well enough,” she says with a shrug. “It’s all this… over the top stuff that gets me. But, it’s Nell right? You suffer through these kind of things for the people you love.”

“You sound like Eric.”

She chuckles, and Callen decides he likes that look much more than the so-tired one she’d been wearing seconds prior. “You’re one of his then?”

Callen nods, drawn. He’s never drawn. He’s a damn federal agent. But there’s something in her, a mystery to be solved, and he doesn’t quite know how he wants to go about it. He’s pretty sure he can figure her out, but she’s being shockingly unforthcoming. He doesn’t even know her name. In his experience, women give that out rather freely in the presence of attractive men. “And you’re one of hers.”

“Maid of honour,” she confesses. “I kind of wish she’d picked one of her million cousins so I wouldn’t have to be here, but I also wouldn’t envy that choice.”

“Co-worker friends?”

She shakes her head. “Older than that. And before she gets to tell you the story, I moved here first. She followed me.” There’s a smile in the corner of her mouth that tells him this is a long-standing argument, like she and Nell have this discussion constantly.

“Oh ho ho ho!”

He’s watching her, rather than the obnoxiously drunk man that seems to have noticed them. Damn, and he was hoping to stay inconspicuous for just a little longer.

“Look who’s under mistletoe!”

Sure enough, when Callen looks up, there’s a spring of the damn stuff. He’s been pretty good at avoiding it all night, had scoped them all out early since Eric had warned them that Nell had gone all out with the stuff this year. When he brings his eyes back down to her, she’s looking at the man, long-suffering in her gaze.

“Uncle Max, you’re drunk.”

“No!” he protests immediately and Callen smiles. “I’m enjoying the season. Now, you know how this works Kensi. You have to kiss the man!”

“There’s no berries on it,” Kensi – now he knows her name, and he has to admit, he likes it – argues back, one hand even coming up to perch on her hip. From the looks of it, this is a normal thing. “How is he supposed to take a berry afterwards?”

‘Uncle Max’ looks incredibly confused, but he’s drawn the attention of the crowd. Callen can feel it because it makes his skin prickle. He does not like being the center of attention. Ever. From the look that he sees pass over her face in the corner of his eye, she doesn’t either. In fact, he even hears her swear under her breath. He bites his cheek against a smile. When she turns to face him, she looks resigned.

“Sorry. Don’t think you put ‘kiss a random girl’ on your list tonight.”

He shrugs. “I can suffer through it.”

It makes her mouth twitch and his stomach leap. What is it about this one? He’s never had the stomach-leaping problem before. But then she’s leaning in and, yup, that’s her mouth against his. For such a short kiss – barely the press of her lips – it rocks him and he has to force his mind back into gear when she’s pulled back. The room fills with cheers and wolf-whistles and she blushes before shoving her drink into his hand and taking off.

Callen doesn’t chase her, not with the way she took off. He’s smarter than that. Instead, he lifts her glass to his lips. It is cider, he discovers. And he thinks maybe he can taste where her mouth had been.

Maybe this wedding won’t be the event from hell he was expecting.


	2. Chapter 2

Nell calls court at a coffee shop.

It’s a very ‘her’ place to be, if anything Eric’s said is correct. She teaches at CalTech and has a thing for specialty coffee. Eric’s told that story a million times too, how he’d met and wooed Nell. Specialty coffee. To her office. Every day.

Callen can remember all sorts of days he was late.

The whole wedding party is in attendance – and honestly, how had he been roped into this again – including the mysterious Kensi. He slides into the seat beside her a smile already on his face.

“Fancy seeing you here.”

She snorts. “Maid of honour, remember? Kind of obligated. Plus, where else would I be?”

He looks at her strangely for that. She could be anywhere. Work, for one, which is where he should be. But so should Sam, so he doesn’t think much of it. Eric too. Hetty’s been giving them a whole lot of time off for this wedding thing. He finds it interesting since most days he’s pretty sure Hetty doesn’t even like Eric. And he’s pretty sure Hetty’s never met Nell.

“Okay! Welcome everyone.” Nell’s standing at the end of the table and Callen just barely resists the urge to snort. He had been originally kidding, thinking Nell was holding court, but even with her petite stature she most definitely looks like she’s about to pass down an edict.

“We have the whole wedding party here for the first time.” She beams. Callen’s gaze shoots to Kensi and sees the forced nature of her smile. Now he definitely knows there’s something going on with her. There’s some odd thing about the way she’s reacting to this whole wedding thing. “Which is a little scary considering we’re three weeks away from the wedding.”

Eric reaches out, squeezes her hand. Nell’s shoulders relax a little and Callen’s not an expert on love, but he thinks maybe that’s a part of it, that innate understanding of another person.

“I just want to go over the schedule of the next three weeks since so many of you have been so great about moving around family holidays and what have you.”

A December 24th wedding. Christmas Eve. He doesn’t want to know what Sam had to do to smooth that over with Michele. And Eric had looked so panicked when he’d crowded Sam and Callen in Ops one day that Callen had actually been grateful there’s no family to speak of on his side. Nothing to rearrange. It sounds positively chaotic.

Not that he’d know. Christmas isn’t something he generally celebrates.

“Oh my God! What the hell?”

It’s a new voice, an angry voice, and it floats over to them over the general chatter of the coffee shop. Then again, the chatter all but dies out at the sound, a shrill, shrieking noise. And it befits the woman using it, thunderous face fixed on the shaggy man behind the bar.

“Are you an idiot? Incompetent? You can’t even hand over a cup of coffee?”

Callen’s eyes dart around the group out of habit. While most look embarrassed on behalf of the poor man, Nell’s chewing her lip and Kensi- her face is way too calm.

“N-no, Miss, I-“

“Do you have any idea how much this shirt cost? I come here for the service and this is how you repay me? Five years. Five years of my consistent patronage and-“

He’s sure there’s more, but he’s watching something much more interesting as Nell and Kensi share a look. Then Kensi’s sighing, apology all over her face. She stands smoothly, and Callen’s kind of surprised to see the black pants. They look like a uniform, and the pretty flats round out the look with a scary amount of professionalism. He hadn’t noticed her hair before either, tugged back in a chic bun-like thing. He’d been too struck by her face. Again.

“Miss Cavanaugh, is there a problem?”

Wait, what? What is she doing?

“A problem? A _problem?_ Miss Blye this incompetent _idiot_ has managed to spill my extra hot, non-fat, no foam extra hazelnut latte all over the front of my blouse!”

Callen would have likely been impressed with how quickly that order rattled off the woman’s tongue if he hadn’t been too busy watching Kensi. She doesn’t flinch. She just offers a serene smile as she steps closer to the woman and guides her off to the side. She speaks to the woman quietly and Callen is absolutely shocked at the way the woman’s face goes from dangerous to accepting.

Then, it’s Kensi who personally steps behind the counter, who personally goes about getting a new to-go cup and personally securing the little plastic top. She offers the woman a calm smile and sends her on her way. The shaggy man looks up from the next coffee he’s making and offers her a regretful smile. She waves him off and Callen doesn’t catch the short conversation they have.

She returns to the table with that plastered on smile, and while half of the table seems perfectly content, Callen is merely all the more curious. He’s so curious, so intrigued that he misses absolutely everything that Nell says about the upcoming wedding and schedule. Suddenly he’s glad he’s on Eric’s side of the aisle. The man wants this to go off without a hitch so Callen’s pretty sure he’ll just hand over a schedule if he isn’t going to e-mail one later today.

Which means he can watch her.

She pays attention, takes notes, but her gaze also darts around every once in a while, paying attention to each and every person who walks through the door. Most she discards, people she doesn’t even make eye contact with, but others, others she offers a smile, even a little wave. He wonders if her decision to sit at the far end of the table from Nell was deliberate. She’s not taking away from Nell, but she’s also interacting with customers. Even so, she looks tired, worn out, like she could just go home, curl up and pretend the world didn’t exist.

Eventually, Nell finishes, a broad grin on her face. Yeah, Callen hadn’t heard a damn thing, but that’s okay with him. He’s found something way more interesting.

Her eyes come up as everyone shuffles around and away, some to the counter, others out the door and back to their daily routines. Nell and Eric stay buried in wedding plans and Kensi –

When he looks back, she’s already gone.

Well damn.

Since Nell seems entirely preoccupied, he goes for the next best thing.

It’s late enough that there’s a lull in customers and Shaggy is cleaning up one of the massive industrial coffee makers places like this use. He looks up when Callen steps to the counter.

“What can I get you?”

“Kensi,” Callen replies. “She’s your boss?”

Shaggy’s eyes narrow. “What’s it to you?”

Callen shrugs, intrigued by the protectiveness that Kensi has quite obviously inspired. It makes him wonder what kind of person she is, what’s happened to her, that it inspires that much of a response in her co-workers. Maybe even employees. “Looks like she’s had a bit of a rough morning.”

“Boss is the first one in last one to leave, right?”

Callen nods slowly. She is his boss. Well, there’s another thing he can add to the sparse details he’s learning about Kensi Blye.

“Plus, Rose called in sick so she would have been short staffed for the rush this morning. Then there’s Nell and the wedding. The maid of honour thing’s been running her pretty ragged.”

He picked a talkative one. Callen’s glad. Then he makes an impulsive decision. “She got something that helps?”

Shaggy seems to look at him, scrutinizing carefully. He must see something because he leans forward. “No one’s supposed to know. Specialty chocolate shop a block down does hot chocolate. Not cocoa, she hates the powdered stuff. We’re talking real chocolate, melted down in a cup. She won’t tell you she drinks it, but most of us know better.” He seems to take Callen in again.

“Here, take this. They’ll give it to you in a paper cup, slide this one over it. It’s how she hides that it’s not ours. Not good for the boss to be seen drinking from a competitor.”

Callen gets two. If it’s as phenomenal as Shaggy says, he wants to give it a try. And he does, right there in the shop, almost groaning in rapture. Now he gets it. Definitely gets it.

Kensi’s not in the shop when he returns, but neither is Nell or Eric and all of the wedding party have vanished. But Shaggy’s still working the counter and he lifts his eyebrows when Callen returns. Callen holds up the cup and Shaggy’s lips twitch.

“She’s hibernating,” he says. “I’ll make sure it gets to her. And you are?”

“Callen,” he answers and he has no idea what possesses him to give his real name. He never does. Ever.

“Cheers, Mister Callen.”

It’s not quite what he’d wanted, but it’ll have to do.

And he is most certainly hoping, maybe irrationally, that it’ll brighten her day.


	3. Chapter 3

“Are you kidding me? I’m a Federal Agent, a Special Agent and you want me to cut snowflakes?”

“Nell wants snow,” Eric says, looking more than a little panicked about the whole thing. “We’re in LA. She wants snow, in LA. Do you know what that costs? We don’t exactly have an endless budget here and Nell’s on this kick to get all of the decorations done by hand-“

“And you agreed?” Callen inquires, arms folded over his chest. He’s not looking forward to this either. Eric and Nell’s dining room table is absolutely covered in white paper, and only a tiny handful of hand-cut flakes.

“It’s my _wedding_. Do I look suicidal to you?”

“Your wedding or your wife?” Steve Beale is the exact opposite of his brother. A jock, social, in PR. They’re black and white siblings, he and Eric, but it means Steve’s best man by default and both Callen and Sam are glad for that. A whole lot of responsibility they don’t need to worry about.

“Does it matter?” Eric asks. He does look pathetic, Callen’ll give him that. Absolutely pathetic. “Look, I’ve called for reinforcements, okay, but she can’t be here so-“

“She?” Steve asks with a raised eyebrow. “Is she single?”

Eric gives his brother a baleful look. “She’s Nell’s best friend and she has practice at this, okay? Don’t be a jerk.”

“Me? I am never a jerk!”

“Tell that to your ex-girlfriends.”

Callen smirks. Sometimes, when pushed to the edge, Eric’s sass has a life of it’s own. Then it hits him. Nell’s best friend. “The maid of honour?”

He doesn’t even realize he’s asked the question before it’s out of his mouth and Eric’s answered the affirmative. Kensi. Kensi’s had practice. Practice making paper snowflakes. How on earth is a woman who runs a coffee shop supposed to have practice making snowflakes? From what he’d seen, the Christmas decorations at the shop had been pre-fabricated, purchased and stenciled on the windows.

So what makes her so well-practiced?

“She was hot.”

Eric actually growls. “Hands. Off. Steven.”

Callen wings an eyebrow. First Shaggy and now Eric. Kensi seems to inspire protectiveness in most people. He can understand that. Somewhere in amongst his rabid curiosity is the same instinct, the same need to avoid hurting her, to keep her safe and happy. It’s becoming apparent that she really does inspire it in everyone she meets.

“Eric?”

It’s her voice and it makes him perk up. Not physically, of course, visibly, but he can feel the awareness down to his fingers, a tingle he only ever feels when he’s about to make a massive arrest. But this isn’t about arrests, this is about a woman. A woman stepping through the doorway in soft jeans and a t-shirt.

She looks stunning like this, outside of her work clothes, outside of everything. She’s casual, hair down, dark, flowing and Callen decides he likes this look on her too. He’s discovering he likes every look on her.

“Kensi! Thank God.”

She smiles and it’s genuine. It’s a thing of beauty. “No problem.”

“No, seriously, Kens. Hand made. Did you hear her? _Hand-made_. I’m no good at this.”

“Eric,” she says calmly. “Breathe, okay? Go… do something else productive.”

Sam arches an eyebrow. “How does he get off the hook?”

“Have you seen him with scissors?” she asks in response. “I’d rather not make an ER trip because he manages to cut off his finger. Plus, Nell’d kill me. I’d like to avoid the drama.”

The grin crawls up Callen’s cheeks. It’s involuntary. It’s actually kind of frustrating. Since when did his body do such involuntary things? Since never, that’s when. He’s a very well-trained undercover federal agent. He’s had bombs strapped to his chest, guns held to his face and potentially exposed to any number of poisons. He can control his reaction for lie detector tests and drug kingpins, but the sound of her voice, the sight of her, a woman he’s known all of two days, sends his muscles into involuntary movements.

She offers him a tentative smile, offers all of them a tentative smile, and adjusts the bag on her shoulder. “The rest of you. We have a lot of snowflakes to finish and not a lot of time. Let’s get to work.”

She’s actually incredibly efficient about it. She lines them all up on one side and sets them all with different tasks. She sits on the other, directly across from Callen and he actually spends much more time watching her cut snowflakes that he does cutting his own. He is impressed. Totally and honestly impressed. She’s quick, efficient and they come out much better than anything he and Sam and Steve can accomplish. And in half the time.

Which explains why both Sam and Steve beg off early. Kensi doesn’t argue. She doesn’t even look like she cares and he can’t blame her. Sam’s been good, been reading her carefully, but Steve’s been pushy and she’s closed down so tight, Callen’s not sure he’s going to manage to get any new information out of her. Which is too bad. He most definitely wants to know more.

And maybe that’s why he can’t keep his damn mouth shut.

“How are you so good at this?”

Her eyes come up and he’s surprised to see a little secretive smile in the corner of her mouth. “I was a Big Sister,” she reveals, hands moving smoothly as she cuts yet another flake.

“To a kid?” he can’t help but ask. He can never help but ask. She’s giving him the tiniest of openings and he’s a little surprised at how much he’s willing to take whatever she would like to give. It’s a little embarrassing actually, and he’s really glad she can’t read his mind.

“She liked snowflakes.”

There’s a story there, Callen can sense it, but he also knows when people are giving off the ‘shut up and go away’ vibes. Of course he knows. He perfected them. What strikes him is the way he wants to know, how badly he wants to know, and at the same time how much he is refusing to push. If she were a suspect, a target, he’s pretty sure he’d be able to charm the answer out of her. But she’s not, and he has also learned that sometimes it’s patience and persistence that wins the day.

He changes the topic, asking about Eric and Nell, their relationship from Kensi’s perspective. She’s more open about that, openly adoring of Nell and Eric and a little scathing in the way she describes Nell wearing the pants. She’ll talk about anything but herself, it seems, and that, it itself, is a pretty big clue.

She’s hiding something; she’s holding onto something.

And it only makes Callen want to know more.


	4. Chapter 4

The next day he gets up early.

Well, actually, he doesn’t sleep. He’s an insomniac, the worst kind, and he’s so glad that he can work on sleep like that because more often than not, it just does not come. He accepted it a long time ago. It’s just who he is. He can’t even exhaust himself into it. He’s tried.

There is a benefit though. A double benefit if you count the candy cane he’d managed to find on his desk yesterday. Wedding favours, if he remembers right. They’d tied a whole bunch of bows on too many candy canes a couple of weeks ago. Or maybe it was months and it was wedding invitations. Either way, he’s got a perfectly good candy cane and he has an idea of what to do with it.

Still, he waits. He’s patient.

When he’s pretty sure the morning rush is finished, he heads for that tiny little coffee shop.

She’s not behind the counter, and neither is Shaggy this time. Honestly, he doesn’t care, just uses his carefully honed ninja skills – and that’s what they are, no matter how many times Sam teases him about it – to slip past the college kid and into the back hallway. The door at the end is open, just a crack and he finds himself knocking.

Her hair is a mess today, thrown up haphazardly, but it’s a good look on her. She’s wearing all black and he’s pretty sure that’s a brand new milk stain he can see on the right side of her chest. He doesn’t flipping care.

“Hi,” she says and he’s remarkably amused by the surprise in her tone.

“Hi,” he answers easily.

She eyes him critically for a moment. “You’re the one that dropped the chocolate off with Deeks.”

She’d had him until Deeks. “What?”

“Deeks. Blond. Male. Shaggy hair?”

Shaggy. Shaggy has a name. Or a nickname he thinks.

He shrugs. “He might of mentioned you had a weakness.”

“He shouldn’t have mentioned anything at all.”

That sends an eyebrow up. She’s a tough nut to crack, he’d known that since the beginning. But tough nuts didn’t just kiss random strangers, mistletoe or no. And they certainly didn’t tell those same people the tiny details, like being a Big Sister. Not in his experience.

“Callen, right?”

So she’d asked. Okay, or paid attention. He’s going to go with ‘asked’ since no one can hear his thoughts. He likes that idea better. “And you’re Kensi.”

She hums the affirmative and leans back, waving absently to one of the two chairs in front of the desk. She looks good behind it, he thinks, even if the damn thing is a right mess.

“The boss lets you sit at his desk?” he can’t help but asking.

He gets an eyebrow in response, a bit of a proud smirk. “She likes me.”

“You’re close, then.”

“Practically the same person.”

There’s so much amusement in her eyes, mirth and laughter and he doesn’t know why. He’s not entirely sure he cares to find out because he’s damn mesmerized by it. Mismatched eyes and dark hair.

“Why are you here?”

It’s a million dollar question. The correct answer is that he wanted to see her. Which is preposterous considering he’s known her all of three days. But he knows so little and she holds so much back and he cannot stand a mystery. He solves them. It’s his job. He finds hidden things, lures them out and then he puts all the pieces together until they make the proper puzzle. But she’s not being near as forthcoming and it intrigues him as much as it drives him wild. What does she have to hide? Why does she guard herself so closely?

“I brought you this,” he says instead, reaching into his pocket.

He is infinitely rewarded when her eyes light up. She reaches long elegant fingers out for the cane and cradles it in her palms like a treasure.

“What is it?” he finds himself asking. The look on her face is so full of awe, and he’s pretty sure that much should not be on her face from a simple candy cane.

“Nothing,” she says, but the look doesn’t leave her eyes. So he’s quiet, patient, waiting. He’s already used to it with her and it’s only been seventy-two hours. Kensi talks when she’s ready. He thinks maybe silence bothers her.

“You know the first thing Eric ever gave Nell was a candy cane?”

He blinks. He hadn’t known that. Of course, he hadn’t really paid attention to the intricacies of Eric’s relationship. What’s more is that Kensi has just provided him with a glimpse of everything inside, the tender part that he knows she’s guarding. The fact that she remembers that, her best friend’s first gift from her soon-to-be husband, is definitely insightful.

She’s a romantic.

So whatever happened, whatever’s got her guarded is probably heartbreak, he thinks. It’s not the hard-knock life because she’s calm and professional in this office. He’s pretty sure it’s not her friends because he’s seen her head to head with Nell and they look thick as thieves. Which leaves romance, really, and from the absolutely smitten look on her face he’s pretty sure that’s a good guess.

A guess he keeps to himself.

She must be able to tell that he hadn’t known that though, or maybe that he hadn’t remembered it like she did because she blushes that fetching shade of pink again and blinks away that awe.

“Sorry,” she says on a laugh. “As you can tell I’m not used to people just handing out candy canes.”

He shrugs it off, but there’s definitely a genuine smile twitching at the corner of his smirk. “As the saying goes, there’s a first time for everything.”

Like the first time she flashes him a proper, wide, absolutely beaming grin.

He thinks maybe he’ll bring her a candy cane every day, stranger or not.

Because that’s a grin that should be a daily occurrence.


	5. Chapter 5

Even he can admit his plan for today is a little creepy.

As far as he knows, they have no wedding stuff. None. The schedule that Eric dutifully forwarded to all of his side involved says that he is not required to do anything. Literally too, since Hetty’s on this health kick that requires friends and days off.

He hates days off.

Well, he usually hates days off.

Today, it doesn’t seem like such a bad thing. He’s pretty sure his plan’s still creepy, but he has the whole day to do it. He likes that.

So, he sets up shop in the corner of Kensi’s little place and hangs out.

He’s late enough that he knows he’s missed her working the till at opening – which is too bad and he makes a mental note to do it sometime soon – but he’s pretty sure she’s still here. The door to the back office he’d gone in just yesterday is open a crack, like she enjoys the sound of the hustle and bustle. He reads a book, mostly. He’s got his laptop but it’s not really like he can do any classified work on the table of an LA coffee shop, even if the place is a bit niche market and totally a hole-in-the-wall surprise.

She comes out around lunch.

“Deeks says you’ve been here all morning.”

He looks up from a rather riveting mental story of the man currently sitting on the bus bench across the street to see her, hands on her hips, looking down at him. He merely offers a calm smile. “When are you off shift.”

“Never,” she says and he definitely loves a woman with a come back.

“Come on.”

She rolls her eyes. “The lunch rush is almost here, then there are books to keep, Callen. Then the late rush and inventory to do. What are you doing here?”

“Shouldn’t the books be the owner’s job?” he asks almost stupidly. She’s got that veneer on, the one that says he should just back off and leave. The problem is, he doesn’t want to do that. At all. Maybe ever. He doesn’t know. What he does know is that when he’d woken up this morning – he’d managed like six hours of sleep, a small miracle – he’d wanted to be here. It’s a strange emotion for him too.

She just stands there, hands on her hips, eyebrow raised. It’s the same look she’s been giving him since she’d come out to find him here, not even a shift in her microexpressions, so he has absolutely no idea what makes him blurt. “You’re the owner.”

“Gold star,” she murmurs and he can see she’s impressed, even as he sees her guard rise just a little. So there’s something to that too, something about being the owner of this place that makes her back rise.

Thing is, it just buoys his heart. “So you can take time whenever.”

“Books. Inventory. Coffee to sell, customers to make happy. Any of this ringing a bell?”

“You took the time to cut snowflakes.”

“Emergency situation. Again, Eric in the ER. Bad. Nell’s ensuing freak out, also bad.”

But he’s already standing, book in hand and not a care in the world as to the fact that he’s just rather effectively lost his page. He’s making another bloody impulsive decision with her, another thing that he should not do but is doing anyway and he’s surprised to find that it’s not as odd as he’d anticipated.

“Take an hour.”

“You can have five minutes.”

“An hour,” he pushes. He steps towards her, putting them toe to toe and she does not back down. “I have a surprise.”

“I don’t like surprises.” But she likes him. He can tell by the awareness in her gaze.

“You’ll like this one.”

He has absolutely no idea what it is that changes her mind, but he sees the moment it does. Her face clears, almost completely and he thinks he might just be able to make out the way her mouth curls up. “Any longer than an hour and I’m leaving you behind.”

He’s going to make sure she doesn’t have to.

Still, she seems more than a little disappointment when he pulls into a parking lot. “Walmart?”

He arches an eyebrow. “Trust, remember?”

Actually, he’s nervous. He’s very nervous and it’s making him itchy. He hates it. He’s never nervous, not even when he has a gun pointed at his head. She makes him nervous and it’s the first time that’s happened. Ever.

She follows him into the chaos of Walmart and he’s more than a little surprised when she actually reaches for his hand. While his skin tingles, he can’t see it as anything other than logical. They have to weave their way through aisles and aisles of people and true, he doesn’t want to lose her. Especially since he doesn’t have a cell phone number if he has to find her again. Still, he likes the feeling of her hand in his. A lot.

“What are we doing here?”

“Your store doesn’t have a Christmas tree.”

He feels the tug on his hand that tells him she’s stopped. Thing is, he keeps walking so she stumbles into his back before she gets her footing again. It’s too bad, he thinks, because even that brief press of her body had felt pretty good.

“We don’t need a tree.”

“Of course you do,” he replies. Actually, he couldn’t care less. It’s Christmas. Thing is though, it’s _her_ store and it’ll be _her_ tree and he’s spending time with _her_. At least to himself he’s willing to admit that deciding her store needs a tree is specifically about her.

“I can’t have a tree,” she argues. “There’s celebrating Christmas as a business and crossing the line for those customers that don’t.”

“Even Starbucks hangs lights and wears Santa hats,” he reasons. “You can have a tree. And maybe if you’re lucky I’ll even help you decorate it.”

He flashes her a grin over his shoulder and it makes her smile back impulsively. Still, it feels like a success to him. Maybe she won’t hate this as much as she thinks.

“I don’t have decorations. Or a tree stand.”

“It’s Walmart,” he points out easily. “We’ll find some for you. Non-denominational, of course.”

They find the store’s stand of trees and he waves his arm wide. He’d spread both, but her hand is still in his and until she lets go, he’s not going to. “Where are we going to start?”

For a woman who had originally no intention of getting a tree, she is extremely picky. Kensi makes him hold up every tree she points to – it feels like every tree in Walmart’s seasonal section – while she walks around it. He should be annoyed, but every time she walks around the tree she slips beneath his arm and brushes against his chest. Her scent mingles with pine and Christmas in his nose and if he’d been a romantic, he’d probably think he was lightheaded with it.

Finally she finds one she seems to like and they pack it up. And then, like she’s found her elf spirit, she drags him through aisles of decorations.

But he doesn’t care, because that grin he’d seen when he’d brought her a candy cane is painted across her face again and he’ll let her drag him through aisles and aisles of Christmas stuff for that grin.


	6. Chapter 6

Callen’s discovered he has a problem. And that problem is that he doesn’t have a plan. Not a concrete one at any rate and that means when he wakes up, there’s little bit of a sinking feeling in his stomach. Sure, he could go to her shop again, hang out, but something tells him that Kensi won’t take it as well today as she had yesterday. He’d also promised to help her decorate should she so choose and he’s honestly a little irrationally afraid to go and find the thing already decorated. It’s the only part of Christmas he’s ever really felt like he’d missed as a kid.

What’s funny is that it’s Nell that gives him the opportunity.

The anal-retentive bride-to-be calls them all in to Carondelet House on the afternoon of December sixth, looking harried.

“Fairy lights. I want fairly lights everywhere,” Callen hears Nell saying as he makes his way through the halls. “Kensi-“

“Fairy lights. I heard Nell. We’ll get you fairy lights.”

He smiles. She’s calm and collected, Kensi, like this isn’t – by far – the first time she’s been talking Nell off the ledge.

“But how are we supposed to do that and Christmas trees? That much light and we won’t need the lights along the tables.”

Callen’s brow wrinkles. How much light is Nell talking here? They’re going to blow a fuse in the place if she’s not careful.

It’s just Kensi and Nell standing in the massive venue space. Nell’s wandering about the room, hands on hips, while Kensi’s pulled a chair to the centre and is merely watching her friend wander. She spots him first though, and offers a small smile. It’s a marked difference from the last couple of days and it makes him smirk back.

“How is she?” he asks in a low voice as he gets closer. His hand falls to the back of the chair without real thought on his part. It just seems natural, even as his fingers brush against the back of her shoulder.

Kensi sighs. “Worrying. She’s so calm and collected, but when it comes to wedding stuff, she’s a neurotic wreck.”

“Callen! Thank you. God, where is everyone else? We’ve only got a couple of weeks and we have to get the floor plan worked out today.”

“Floor plan?” he murmurs to Kensi. Weddings are so not his thing.

She sighs. “Decorations, tables. Nell wants to know where everything is going to be day of. That includes the garlands, lights, tree decorations, dance floor, tables, chairs… Almost to the place setting.”

“Almost?”

“I vetoed the props when we left the house.”

Callen blinks. “She was going to bring her own dishes?”

“Yup.”

“Wow.”

Kensi hums. “I get it though. This is a big deal to Nell.”

She sounds a bit wistful and Callen has to bite the inside of his cheek pretty hard to keep from asking. It’s not his place. Not yet, anyway, and he doesn’t want to risk pushing her away because he’s asked the wrong question at the wrong time.

“And holly. Fairy lights and holly. Together. I’m seeing holly.”

Both Kensi and Callen turn their attention back to the bride tearing her way through the empty hall.

“Where are the tables?”

“They’re coming,” Kensi answers and only Callen is close enough to see the way her mouth twitches. She finds this funny. He finds it a bit scary.

“Is she always like this?”

Kensi shakes her head, just enough so he sees it. “She’s a perfectionist. Nothing but the best. And she has a big family.”

“Okay. I think I’m freaking out. You know? Like, everything should be here and nothing’s here and what if that’s what happens on Christmas Eve. I can’t happen on Christmas Eve, because that is my wedding day. The actual day. So it all has to go well. I think I’m having a panic attack.”

Callen’s starting to think that maybe this is where someone – like the _maid of honour_ for example – is supposed to step in but Kensi doesn’t move. She just lets it happen. Since Kensi’s Nell’s best friend, Callen leaves it go, but it takes a heck of a lot of will power to stay put.

“Kensi, was it like this for you? You and Jack? Did you have panic attacks?”

She’s ramrod straight beside him. Jack. She’d been engaged before. To a man called Jack. Callen feels his mind reeling. It shouldn’t, probably. She’s beautiful and she’s smart. She’s resourceful and whatever has her so independent makes her a mystery and a hell of a shell to crack. Callen’s not blind to the allure. What he doesn’t understand is why the hell this Jack guy let her go.

“We didn’t really get this far.”

He shouldn’t feel relief, not when it’s obviously a painful subject. And he can tell it’s a painful subject by the way she will not look at him.

“Miss Jones? How are things in here?”

Kensi sags, just a little, like she’s glad Nell’s not about to bring _that_ up again. Thing is, Callen’s onto it. He’s a dog with a bone and he wants to know more.

“You were engaged,” he murmurs, just barely.

Her eyes are flat when she turns to look at him and there’s no expression on her face. He almost regrets asking the question but he’s too curious. He wants to know, needs to know.

“I was,” she says. “And I’m not now.”

“You broke up with him?” he pushes. He can’t help it. Honestly, he can’t.

“He left me.” Her voice has never, ever been that cold, not even when she was trying to get him out of her store, out of her office and not even to Uncle Max who’d pushed them together under the mistletoe. He has a sudden glimpse of a formidable woman and the reason Nell would have picked her. “Now if you’ll excuse me.”

She steps around him neatly with a plastered on smile and Callen knows he just screwed up.

Big.


	7. Chapter 7

He’d learned early that when you screwed up with a woman, you apologized with gifts. He’d also learned that there were levels to these ‘gifts’. He’d screwed up asking about Jack, he knows that. He’d known it at the time and given that she hadn’t spoke a word to him the rest of the evening – thank God everyone else had slowly started trickling in after that – he’s going to bet that the screw up was significant.

He knows it’s not a jewelry screw up – and he’s not her boyfriend, so there is that. He’s already left her that chocolate from the store down the street, and he’s not sure that’s quite enough. Flowers feel cliché and a bit too much like he’s giving his own game a way a bit early.

So, at a loss, he wanders into that chocolate heaven not far from Kensi’s work to ask.

He’s met with a redhead at the counter, humming to herself just a little. Actually, she’s so wrapped up in the humming that it takes her a good couple of minutes to notice she even has a customer.

“Oh! Hi. Sorry. I get carried away.”

Callen waves it away. He’s not upset. In fact, he’d been kind of glad for it because he has no idea what he’s doing here. Or what he’s supposed to be doing here. Or what- Just, he’d like the solitude. Now he’s feeling pressure.

“Can I help you?”

He sighs. “There’s a woman.”

“Oh! I love these stories.”

“And I screwed up.”

The woman hums her acknowledgement, her smile still wide and bright.

“And I should probably say sorry.”

“That sounds like a great idea,” she chirps. “We’ve got plenty of ‘sorry’ gifts.”

“Yeah, but this is… Different?”

She hums.

“I asked about an ex.”

She shakes her head this time, short hair bouncing. “Never a good call.”

“Yeah well. Her best friend brought it up in the middle of a pre-wedding panic attack and I was curious.” He shrugs.

“Curiosity killed the cat,” she sings.

He snorts. “It didn’t make sense. I hate it when things don’t make sense.”

Her brow wrinkles. If he hadn’t been so focused on Kensi he might have called it adorable. As it is, he misses the look completely. “Why doesn’t it make sense?”

“She’s not the kind of girl you just up and walk away from.”

He’s looking at the brownies – various flavours and kinds and he is never going to make a decision on this one – so he misses the way her eyes widen.

“Oh my God, it’s Kensi!”

Now it’s his turn to be absolutely shocked. “You know Kensi?”

The woman nods fast and hard and he’s dizzy just watching her. Still, the woman makes a beeline for the other side of the counter and the glass case of cupcakes. “We’re friends. And customers. She has the best caramel coffee on the planet and she has a weakness for our hot chocolate? And she’s the only woman I know who has a best friend getting married _and_ had a fiancée walk out on her. Which was stupid, I’ll have you know and I have no idea why he did it. Everything was fine.”

And again, Callen just can’t help himself. “You know what happened?”

“Of course I do. Kensi and I have been friends for years. He had PTSD, you know? That thing that soldiers get? Except he was just a guy. Aerospace engineer. Smart. And then he got caught in that robbery.”

Callen stays quiet, just watching as she pulls a cupcake from its spot and sets about wrapping it. Plus, in his experience, if he gave people the space to talk, they inevitably filled it.

And sure enough: “I mean, don’t get me wrong, no one should watch a child die, but to walk out on Kensi like that? He said he couldn’t get over it. It didn’t help that the police really relied on him for the eyewitness testimony. Even had him moved around in witness protection for a while because they thought there were gang connections. It was a mess.”

Well huh. That did change things, didn’t it.

“Really shook him up. And then, of course, there was his sister. Between that and her dad, Kensi’s never been the same.”

Jack’s sister? Her dad?

Dear God, every time he found something out about this woman, there’s something else in it’s place. He’s starting to think he’s never going to get to know everything about Kensi.

“But don’t you worry. You take her that and she’ll be your best friend for life. Though maybe that’s not all you want her to be?”

Callen laughs, though it’s a little awkward. She’s hit the nail on the head, but it feels strange to talk about. He’s never been going at talking about his feelings. “Thanks-“

“Rose. And now you know where I work so come by whenever! Oh, that sounded creepy.”

He just chuckles, then heads out of the store and down the two blocks. The place his hopping, not quite a rush but not dead either. There’s a teenager at the till and Deeks is manning the cappuccino maker like a pro.

“I’ve got a small extra-hot black caramel,” he calls out just before he spots Callen. When he does, his face changes and he frowns, but Callen couldn’t care less. Not only that, but he knows Deeks only has half of the information and a protective streak. He would too, he thinks, if their roles were reversed.

Instead he presumes a little bit and heads down the hall. Her door’s open a crack, it always is it seems, and he pushes it open without knocking.

“Deeks, how many times do I have- Oh. Not Deeks.”

“No,” Callen agrees. “I owe you an apology.”

She leans back, folding her arms across her chest. Defensive, but listening. Callen can understand that. So he reaches back, closing the door softly. He doesn’t want to be overheard.

“I asked some questions yesterday that I shouldn’t have.”

He slides the cupcake towards her.

She huffs out a sigh, but he can see a smile quirking the corner of her mouth. When she opens the Styrofoam container, her eyes widen but her smile broadens. “Rose was working?”

“You have a lot of friends.”

“They’re good people,” she murmurs, already reaching in and swiping a finger through the icing. He feels his body tighten when that finger makes it’s way into her mouth. Eventually, she pulls her finger from her mouth with a pop and faces him again. “I owe you an apology too. It’s a sore spot. I wish it wasn’t.”

He shrugs. It’s her life, her privacy, and he’d intruded.

“I thought about it, last night. About telling you. I shouldn’t have gotten mad. But Jack wasn’t healthy and he thought he put too much of that on me. So he got up and walked away because he thought I couldn’t handle it.”

Her eyes are far off, glazed, and he wishes he could reach forward to touch her. He wishes he could wrap his arms around her and hang on, too, but he’s blatantly ignoring that yearning. He likes her and she’s attractive but what he’s thinking includes lazy Sunday mornings and picnics in the park. And he never thinks of lazy days or picnics.

“How did you meet him?” It’s a neutral question, he figures, but he asks it softly in the hope that she knows she doesn’t have to share if she doesn’t want to.

She huffs. “I met Jack through Big Sisters. I told you I had one?”

He remembers that. Big Sisters and snowflakes, a week ago.

“Jack was my sister’s brother. Real brother. Biological. And when Laura got sick-“

“Sick?”

She sighs. “Cancer.”

He feels something click. “She liked snowflakes.”

“We’d spend hours,” Kensi says, melancholy again. “I can’t even think about how many snowflakes I must have cut with her in the hospital.” She looks over at him, tucking her hair behind her ear. “That’s why they put her in Big Sisters, so she’d have someone to support her, someone outside of the family to visit and talk to so she didn’t have to feel like she was burdening her family with her fears.”

He nods. What else can he do? He’s not even sure he can compute what’s going on. Here’s this woman, a woman who works her ass off he knows, who takes on things that she probably shouldn’t, who seems to have such a big heart, and she’s been through so much.

“Anyway. Laura was the first straw.”

He ponders for a moment, unsure. Does he want to ask?

“Rose said there was a robbery?”

She looks resigned almost, like she’d known the question was coming. And maybe she had. “Rose has a big mouth,” she says quietly. “I don’t know much. He wouldn’t tell me. And he never went to get help. Wouldn’t let me come to the hearings either.”

Callen nods slowly. He’s known her for a week and even he knows there’s no way she’d have been content on the sidelines. “PTSD isn’t pretty.”

She hums and he wonders if she’s aware of his job, about the PTSD that runs rampant in the people he can deal with. He’s not sure he wants to enlighten her.

Plus, hadn’t Sam once said ‘always leave them wanting more’?

“Regardless. I’m sorry for pushing you yesterday.”

Kensi’s mouth tilts up a little and waves to her cupcake. “You’re forgiven.”

“Good.”


	8. Chapter 8

Their job is to search for tinsel.

It’s something Callen knows he’d normally find beyond annoying, but not this time. Because lucky for him, Kensi’s been drafted as well.

It seems like she’s drafted for a lot of things, and bless her heart, it doesn’t seem to faze her much. He’s tempted to ask, if he’s honest, but given his latest stumble he’s not entirely sure if she’ll be all that receptive to the idea.

Thing is though, he wants to know. He wants to know more, and more, and more; always more. There are layers to the woman in the driver’s seat that are more than intriguing. They’re better than the most complicated case, the most frustrating mystery and all wrapped up in a package that could entice a saint.

Well, he doesn’t care about enticing saints really. He’s not entirely sure he wants her enticing anyone other than him, not that she’d have control over it. He’s seen the protective instinct that so many seem to hang on to when it comes to her and she either doesn’t seem to know about it or finds it a bit frustrating.

Independent to a fault. It shouldn’t be so attractive.

It totally is.

They’ve picked up an abnormal amount of tinsel as it is. They’ve been going from dollar store to dollar store – “There’s no reason to pick up something expensive and Nell won’t know,” she’d told him when he’d suggested half a dozen party stores – and they have a rather impressive collection in the back seat of Kensi’s SUV. He’s pretty sure Nell’ll be pleased.

Thing is though, they have one more store and then they go about their separate ways. It’s been a good day, there’s no arguing that. They’ve laughed, poked fun, and he’s actually seen her in borderline stitches over some of the crazier stories he has from his days undercover. Censored, of course, because some of the information is definitely still classified, but he’s told her enough that she’s been entertained.

It feels good.

Actually, it feels like nothing ever has before. He doesn’t understand the draw of her and he’s not entirely sure he ever will. He likes her guts, likes the way she responds to him because it’s so obvious that he throws her off. The feeling’s entirely mutual, so he’s kind of glad for it.

And, fundamentally, he doesn’t want their last store to be the end of their day. Especially since it ends up being an in-and-out affair. The other stores have been the same, sure, but they’ve also distracted each other with cheap little things. He’s constantly surprised by the things one can buy at a dollar store and he’s surprised to find out she likes the game too.

“It’s something little and simple,” she’d said, lifting a cheap white mug. “Like this. But you can do so much with it, you know? Fill it with chocolate or tea, for example. There’s DIY instructions for colouring and decorating these with Sharpie, too.”

“Sharpie?” He’d been surprised, logically so.

“The secret is baking it,” she’d replied easily, putting the mug back down to wander further down the aisle. “I did them for the employees one year.”

Her employees. Sure, so far he hasn’t seen too many, but it’s still above and beyond. He’s learning that impulses like that, kind things, are just her style. Small, understated, personal. Her.

And, he _likes_ Kensi. He likes her beyond the fact that she’s drop dead gorgeous and completely enigmatic. He enjoys spending time with her. It’s easy to spend time with her. She’s content not to ask any questions, let alone questions he can’t answer. It’s a breath of fresh air, because it’s so obvious she expects nothing from anyone that she can’t get herself.

Simultaneously, he hates that she’s so intensely secretive. He’s spent enough time with her to know she’s too smart to be running a store. She could do so much more. She could be running a chain, nailing criminals to the wall in court. Hell, he’s pretty sure she could do his job and, though he will never, ever admit it out loud, there’s a good chance she could do it just as well as him. And only a tiny piece of his ego dislikes the idea. He’d bet she’d be a wonderful and formidable partner.

Right now though, he’s pretty concerned with how to extend his day with her.

But it’s Kensi who takes the initiative, and suddenly the way she’s been chewing her lip makes a little more sense.

“You like chocolate, Callen?”

“You buying?” he snarks, entirely out of habit.

She laughs. “Sure, since you kept me company all through this tinsel adventure.”

Not that it had been a hardship but he gets the feeling that who’s buying matters much less than his agreement. There’s a secret smile in the corner of her mouth that makes his own lips twitch.

Maybe he’s not the only one who wants to extend the day.

His car’s at her shop anyway, so they agree to walk to the shop Kensi loves so much. They take it slow, his hand brushing against hers. He can see her blush, the pink rising in her cheeks and just before they turn that corner, he takes a risk, linking his pinky finger with hers.

And is handsomely rewarded when, with a slight adjustment of her wrist, all of her fingers tangle with his.


	9. Chapter 9

Kensi’s been on the run all day.

It’s not a surprise, really. As the maid of honour she’s responsible for two events other than the general responsibility of Nell’s sanity. The bridal shower is one of them. Personally, she hates the damn things. It seems like a ridiculous idea when added to the sheer number of gifts Nell and Eric will receive as part of the wedding itself and the stag and doe coming up. But Nell is traditional, almost to a fault, and maybe more than a little indulgent when it comes to all of this wedding business. The woman is completely unflappable when placed in front of a computer, but this wedding has turned her into a crazy person. It would probably be entertaining if Kensi hadn’t been in charge of keeping Nell sane.

So, she sits beside the make-shift throne the bridesmaids had decorated – they were the fun brigade; Kensi’s job is realism – pad of paper in hand. She’s keeping track of all the gifts from friends and relatives. It’s a boring job, but Kensi’s also ninety present sure she’s the only sober one in the room. Champagne is not her favourite.

“Amy!”

Kensi rolls her eyes as Nell, once again, opens lingerie. It’s been a running theme peppered with some small pieces of jewelry and a handful of other odds and ends, probably unsuitable for wedding presents.

“What?” the blond returns innocently, giggling beside the other two of Nell’s high school friends that round out the bridal party. They’re all pissed too, Kensi knows, because they’d each been passed over for maid of honour. She’s the newest to the whole Nell’s friend thing, but she’s also the closest.

“Come on Nell,” Sophie, bridesmaid two, pushes. “Like you don’t want to stop his heart when your dress comes off.”

Kensi bites her lip rather hard. It’s entirely possible both Nell and Eric will be either too exhausted or too drunk to, um, consummate their marriage on Christmas Eve, so the lingerie is likely a moot point.

“You guys know I can only wear one of these, right?” Nell points out with a drunk and vaguely embarrassed giggle.

“So, take the others on your honeymoon!”

Kensi bites her tongue now, adding Amy’s gift to the sorted and organized piles. God, she cannot wait for the gifts part to be over. Luckily for her, it’s not much longer and every one is scattering again. But when Kensi goes to stand, to move onto the next thing, Nell grasps her wrists and tugs her back to her seat.

“Hey, listen. I wanted to talk to you.”

Kensi blinks. “Nell, I told you to stop fussing. I’ve got everything under control.”

“No, not that.”

Nell’s eyes are glazed just a little, enough to know that some of her inhibitions are most definitely lowered. The hangover is going to be hell and Kensi is glad that won’t be her responsibility. She does, however, make a mental note to warn Eric.

“It’s Callen.”

Kensi’s eyebrow rises. It’s intriguing to say the least, if only because Kensi doesn’t know what she thinks or feels about Eric’s coworker. She knows their chocolate yesterday had been fun and he’d certainly made what could have been a really annoying errand more amusing than irritating.

But that does not help her make a decision.

“Eric says you’ve been spending time together.” There’s the tiniest slur to her words and it’s a little endearing. “Kens. Kens, that’s good.”

“Is it?” Kensi asks, choosing amusement over defensive irritation.

“Of course it is,” Nell says. “You take care of everyone all the time. You are the strongest person I know and you don’t hesitate to stand up and support the people you love. I mean, why do you think I picked you for maid of honour? Because I know you won’t waver, I know I can rely on you, but Kens, you never take time for you.”

Kensi blinks again.

“I mean, when was the last time you had sex? No, went on a date?”

Kensi bites her lip because in all honesty, it kind of depends on how Nell’s defining ‘date’. It’s entirely possible that yesterday qualified.

Not that she plans on sharing that with Nell.

Except then Nell says, “Eric says Sam says Callen’s been really busy lately and, well, Deeks says he’s seen Callen a lot recently-“

Deeks had been gossiping? She made a mental note to have _another_ talk with the man about the definition of ‘private life’.

“Actually, he said something about a cupcake from a couple of days ago and he brought you chocolate from Rose’s place? Because seriously, Kens, if he’s aready learning those kinds of things and you’ve only known him a handful of days, and it’s you-“

Kensi blows out a breath and it cuts Nell off. Even drunk Nell can tell when something’s not right with Kensi.

“I don’t know,” Kensi admits.

Nell’s eyes widen. Quite obviously it’s not the answer the bride-to-be had anticipated.

“I… He’s nice?” she says. “He’s… attentive.”

This time, Nell’s eyebrow starts climbing towards her bangs and Kensi can feel herself blushing.

“We’re… friends.”

“That’s it?” Nell asks, a pout already forming on her face.

“Nell-“

“Come on,” the redhead whines. “He’s attractive, available – and yes, I asked on your behalf – and obviously interested-“

“And I’m not stupid,” Kensi argues. “He works with Eric and since,” she lowers her voice, “you can’t talk about Eric’s job, I’m assuming it’s all sorts of dangerous and classified. I’ve had enough of that from the men in my life without walking into it knowing what I’m getting into.”

“You think I like Eric’s radio silence? Or the fact that he cannot talk about his worst days even though I have security clearance? You can’t help who you fall in love with, Kens. It doesn’t work like that.”

But she isn’t in love, Kensi knows that much. There’s definitely a draw, an increasingly irresistible tug towards the man, but Kensi has no intention of falling in love with him. Hell, she has no intentions towards him at all.

It doesn’t seem to make a difference to Nell though, who waves off whatever statement Kensi had opened her mouth to say.

“Look, I actually didn’t mean to get heavy, but I wish you’d let loose and have some fun, at least leading up to the wedding. Afterwards, you can totally go back to being just boring Kensi, but live a little. For me?”

But Kensi holds her ground. “I am having fun. God, Nell, I just met him.”

“And already kissed him. Beth told me.”

Kensi groans.


	10. Chapter 10

Nell is going to die.

Slowly, painfully and without regret.

And then Kensi’s going to spread glitter all over her corpse, her coffin and her grave. Seems like a fitting response since Kensi feels like she’s drowning in the stuff.

“My wedding, assuming I get to that point, will not have glitter,” she grumbles without thinking.

Callen chuckles, then bites his lip when she shoots him a glare.

“I’m with her,” Eric moans.

“This is your wedding,” Sam points out. “Nell didn’t strike me as the glitter type.”

“Me either,” Eric laments. “Who thought this up anyway?”

‘This’ is the tiny little stocking he holds up. It has enough room for a place card, basically. It’s another one of Nell’s Christmas ideas, informing each guest of their table by a card in each of the damn things. They’ve been using glitter to decorate them with each guest’s name all morning and there’s evidence of it everywhere. Kensi is seriously rethinking using her day off for this, especially since Nell and the bridesmaids have the excuse of work to get them out of it. She’s pretty sure all the agents around the table are cursing their time off as well.

“Sophisticated and elegant,” Sam says, setting another bloody stocking aside to dry. “That’s a wedding.”

Kensi sees the surprised look Callen shoots him out of the corner of her eye and is actually not as shocked as she should be that these feds have talked weddings.

“Got your girl picked out too?”

She’s not sure she’d even considered that the large black man could blush, nor that Callen’s eyebrow could rise that high.

“Since when?” Callen asks.

“What?” Eric jumps in. “Wait, what?”

Sam shrugs.

“You have a girl,” Callen says, abandoning his stockings in favour of interrogating Sam.

“Woman,” Sam counters with a smirk. “Definitely a woman.”

“Who?” Callen pushes. “Where did you meet?”

“None of your business,” Sam counters.

“Is that a coffee shop or a restaurant, I can never keep track.” But then, rather abruptly, Callen changes his strategy. “Come on. You’re always on my case about finding someone to settle down with and now you’re going to keep all of the secrets of the universe?”

She’s not sure what possesses her – Sam’s not her friend, she barely knows the man – but then her mouth is opening and out comes, “Destination wedding.”

All of the men turn to look at her, but it’s the curiosity and awareness in Callen’s gaze that makes her heart hitch. The way he clings to every personal word she says makes her feel both nervous and guilty. She’s not a ‘sharer’ by nature.

She forces a shrug. “I’ve always wanted to go to Mexico or the Dominican. Maybe Costa Rica. And it limits the number of people you can have, so the invitations don’t get out of hand.”

“Do you not take time off?” Callen inquires with a little laugh and it takes Kensi a minute to realize he’s asking why she hasn’t just gone to those places herself.

She shrugs again. “Not really. The place doesn’t run itself.”

“Everyone needs a vacation.” Sam says kindly. “Business owners take vacations all the time.”

She just offers him a smile.

“I didn’t know you’d thought of your wedding, Kens,” Eric says. “Think you can tell Nell? She’s been going on and on about how you work so long and never date. Maybe knowing you’ve thought about getting married will get her to let up a bit.”

Kensi curses Eric’s usual obliviousness. The quasi-secrets he’d just spilled to his team are not things she’s particularly proud of. After Jack and her dad she’s thrown herself into the shop, into stability and consistency and things she could control. People leave, barring the minimal exceptions like Nell or Rose or Deeks. So it’s easier to just not involve herself in any of it.

And then she catches Callen’s eyes, the intrigue and interest in them, and thinks that maybe she’s spent the last week breaking her own rules.

For some strange reason, that’s not as terrifying as it should be.


	11. Chapter 11

He sees it on her desk when he invades her office the next morning.

It’s a little thing, tiny, not even a quarter of the envelope it sits on. The return address says ‘Owen Granger’ and for some reason that puts his back up.

Okay, that’s a lie. He totally knows the reason. And the reason is striding through the door looking both exasperated and amused. He has that effect on people.

Thing is though, she stops dead when she sees the card and box. Her hand actually shakes as she reaches out for it and he hands it over without argument.

“Sorry,” he says and he knows from her tiny nod that she knows what it’s for. He doesn’t actually want to invade her privacy, he’s just curious. He thinks maybe she’s used to that now. And to his credit, he’d done no more than look.

“Come on,” she says instead, even going as far as to step back a little. “Let’s go.”

She’s out the door before he can ask what the card’s about and he’s left kind of standing there like an idiot. It’s Deeks that comes in a few seconds behind her, apparently to drop his cash box in the safe. He arches an eyebrow.

“Not mine,” Callen finds himself saying. He’s not fully conscious as to what’s going on beyond Kensi. “Hers.”

He does, however, manage to catch the knowledge that passes over Deeks’ face. “Owen.”

Like that does anything for his curiosity.

He hadn’t come by for any particular reason either. He’d just woken up and kind of… come. He hadn’t even been entirely sure where he’d been planning to go until he’d turned the corner and seen the sign. He’d feel pathetic if she wasn’t so damn intriguing. But now, now there’s a mystery to be solved, a mystery that involves Kensi.

He’s not stupid enough to pass up the opportunity.

He finds her leaning against the windows of the shop, coat still on, hands in her pockets. She barely glances at him before she starts walking. He follows, of course he does, and he has the sneaking suspicion she’d been waiting for him. Yeah, she knows his curiosity by now, but he also hopes that she knows he’ll respect her privacy. Well, as best he can, anyway.

They walk for a while. It’s a distance anyway, until they get to the beach. Actually, he hadn’t realized she’s this close, her shop is this close. It must show on her face because she offers him a smile.

“Deeks really likes the beach,” she says. “He says it’s the only reason he even considered getting a job at my place.”

Callen doubts that. He really, really does.

She actually takes her shoes off before she steps onto the sand. He finds it adorable, really, but doesn’t follow suit. He’s always disliked the sand in his toes when he’s not actually surfing. Her shoes swing in her hand and her other one slides out of her pocket too to keep her balance in the shifting shore. And they keep walking.

“The shop was my dad’s,” she says suddenly, eventually, like the quiet is pressing in on her shoulders. “When he joined up, it kind of became my mom’s. Then she left and it was just me and my dad, running this little shop as best we could.”

Callen takes her hand. He doesn’t know why, he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, but he does and she turns to face him. She doesn’t meet his eyes though, keeps her head down, sinking her bare toes into the sand even though it’s LA’s version of freezing. There’s a part of him that wants to stop the story now, to reassure her that if she doesn’t want to talk about it, he’s not going to make her, but the words never leave his mouth.

“He was killed in action when I was fifteen,” she says quietly. “Did I have dreams, yeah of course I did. I was going to do all sorts of things. But then my dad died and my mom was gone and the only person I had left was Owen. And I couldn’t- I was too young. Dad left me the shop, but I was _fifteen_. Owen had to run it. Owen had to pick up the pieces and keep moving on, keep pushing forward. It’s just what he does. And it was what I needed.”

She huffs out a breath but he does not let go of her hand. He’s not really sure he could.

“When I was old enough he handed over the store. I’ve graduated, Callen. I’ve gone to college, taken business, did what I had to do to keep myself floating. But Owen- Owen lost it a few years back. Said he was seeing my dad. I asked him, begged him, to go talk to someone and… we broke. I haven’t seen him in almost fifteen years. But every year he sends a card to the shop for me, sometimes with money. I send the money back with his favourite chocolate because he’s the only family I have left.

“Did he leave? Yeah, he did, but it doesn’t matter. Because he’s my family and that-“

Callen squeezes her hand. He gets that, as best he can considering he has no family to speak of. The closest thing is Sam and Eric and Hetty and they’re all coworkers. But he knows, without a shadow of a doubt that there is absolutely nothing he wouldn’t do for Sam, Eric or Hetty.

“But it doesn’t help,” he says and now it’s his turn to look out over the waves. “It doesn’t bring him back. It doesn’t make it better.”

There’s a shocking amount of understanding in her eyes when he brings his back again and he’s struck very suddenly with the thought that while he’s learning about Kensi, maybe he’s not being so careful about what he’s letting her learn either.

“No,” she agrees and steps into his body. She’s turned though, so it’s her shoulder that rests against his, but it’s the closest they’ve been since their kiss ten days ago. “Nothing makes it better.”

Except, he thinks, maybe this.


	12. Chapter 12

He’s not supposed to be on duty.

Actually though. They’ve banked time for this kind of thing, worked day in and day out on some of the roughest cases of his career and Hetty had okay-ed the time off without blinking. She loves them all, of course, but Callen knows it’s also because they’ve been through a lot. A month doesn’t seem like too much to ask, especially considering the season.

But in their world, it’s also not that simple.

Sometimes the bad guys don’t understand that it’s kosher to use your co-worker’s wedding to woo the maid of honour.

And who the hell says ‘woo’ anymore?

Callen shakes his head, even as he eyes himself in the mirror. It’s a short thing, he hopes, just a little bit of recon. A couple of days on a case that’s been cold for over a year. SecNav doesn’t care of course, she never does, and in some ways he gets it. In OSP they deal with the special of special cases. They’re classified beyond classified and often require liaising with more than just the LAPD. He’s had CIA cases, DEA, FBI, special task force and joint task force cases.

He’s not totally sure what this is. Well, he knows the parameters, he guesses. Arms dealer, probably American, responsible for providing weapons to rebels in most of the major conflicts across the pond. The latest is the Ukraine, where even Callen knows tensions are bubbling a little to close to the surface. The last thing they need is an idiot trying to push the former Soviet territory into another Yugoslavia.

Which means he has to be sneaky and careful in his choice of contact today. It’s not even about security clearance or telling Kensi a damn thing about who he is and what he does and more about making sure he doesn’t leave this crap on her doorstep. It’s actually the very last thing he wants to do. He’s already poisoned enough people and Kensi’s already gone through enough pain and heartbreak.

But he wants to do something. He’s seen her eleven days straight and the last thing he wants is to have her worried that yesterday’s confession had pushed him away. Because it’s entirely possible it’s done the exact opposite. He knows what it’s like, being an orphan. He doesn’t have first hand understanding of her grief, for sure, but he knows what it’s like to build a family from nothing, from pieces. He gets the way it feels like a lifeline, something to cling to in the chaos of life. He understands her.

There will be no illusions of abandonment. Not if he can help it.

Thing is, he doesn’t know what to do.

It takes him much longer than he’d have liked to come up with it and, of course, it hits at the worst possible moment. He’s actually made contact, conversing with their suspect when it hits him. It throws him off more than he’d like. He can actually feel the way his fingers are twitching.

And he takes a risk he’s not sure he ever would before her.

He slips out after catching Sam’s eyes, a bathroom break, he says. His partner looks confused when they exchange looks, even concerned, but doesn’t do anything to stop him. Callen trusts Sam to keep an eye on their guy, to make sure he doesn’t escape. And the bug Callen had planted earlier in the lunch should give them some interesting things now that the new guy isn’t there.

Meanwhile, Callen dials Eric. “I need Nell.”

“What?”

Callen rolls his eyes and refuses to growl, just barely. He’s losing precious time even having this conversation. “Nell. I need to talk to her.”

“Uh-“

“Give me a phone number or patch me through Eric. Now.”

There’s a scramble, then the sound of the phone ringing.

“Nell Jones.”

“Nell, it’s Callen. Eric’s-“

“Groomsman. Is he okay?”

She sounds stoic and he flinches. “This isn’t about Eric, he’s fine. It’s about Kensi. I need you to do something for me.”

. . . . .

He tumbles into his crappy makeshift apartment hours later, exhausted but exhilarated. They’ve made strides today, more strides than Callen had expected, even with his little dalliance. It happens, he thinks, when the damn guys get too cocky for their own good. He’s sure now that this won’t take much longer.

He checks his e-mail first, like he always does for any new intel now that he’s not ‘in character’. But it’s not an information packet that greets him. Instead, Eric’s e-mail is prefaced with the subject ‘Thought You Should See’.

 _For the record,_ the message reads, _this was Nell’s idea. I think Hetty’s thinking of replacing me._

Attached is a video and he almost chokes when it’s Kensi’s office that comes into view when he hits play. He hadn’t even thought about security cameras, but there’s certainly a part of him thankful she has them. Now for reasons beyond simple security.

The woman in question enters not moments later, stopping in the doorway. She’s beautiful, he thinks. There’s a hot milk stain on her black blouse and her hair’s pulled back haphazardly – a sure sign she’s just put in a shift behind the counter – but he doesn’t care. She’s still gorgeous. She’s still Kensi.

She’s stopped dead, he realizes, because there’s something on her desk. Nell had gone above and beyond what he’d asked of her. She’s chosen instant packages rather than the piping hot cider he’d requested and included a beautiful blue mug to go with it. He watches Kensi slide around the desk, fingers gentle and hesitant as they slide over the handle of her new mug, but it’s the look on her face that has his heart beating double-time in his chest.

She looks surprised and vulnerable, reverent almost and the smile on her face is affectionate and soft. Her fingers slide over the little packets of mix before she lifts the cup to read the note obviously tucked beneath. That softness doesn’t leave her face and instead, he gets to watch her eyes glaze over, zoned out and even daydreaming as her fingers play with the edges of the note.

He hits pause and reaches for his phone.

 _Nell went above and beyond. Give her my thanks,_ he types out quickly. It’s a secure phone, meant for NCIS business. He doesn’t think much of it.

_It’s Nell and it’s Kensi. It’s a thing._

Callen smiles to himself as he looks at the paused picture of Kensi’s gentle smile.

A thing indeed.


	13. Chapter 13

Kensi loves the early morning. Not enough to get out of bed at 5AM if she doesn’t have to, but enough that she doesn’t dread it when she does. It’s quiet, she thinks, still. Even in a place as constantly bustling as LA. She breathes in, long and deep as she slides her key into the shop door; exhaust and whatever flowers the florist next door is having delivered. She can smell baking too, from the mom and pop shop that provides her with the delicious baked goodies she serves every day.

It’s a good morning.

There’s a hush in the shop too. Potential, she thinks, the same feeling that had always slid down her spine when she visited her dad and then later, when she took over the business altogether. She can see the day in her mind’s eyes, the way Deeks’ll tease the pretty brunette that’s always in at 6:30. Then there’s Tony, an elderly Portuguese man she always takes a half hour out of her day to catch up with. It keeps her own Portuguese fresh. She wonders idly if the Moms and Tots group’ll be by today and makes a note to send someone out for some small candy canes for the kids.

The door jingles as she’s half way through her morning routine, but she barely looks up. She does eventually, when she senses Deeks’ pause on his way to the staff room.

“What?” she demands, self-conscious. She’s pretty sure she looks fine.

“You’re humming.”

She feels the blush bloom over her cheeks and it irritates her, just a bit. “And?”

“And you never hum.” He’s unapologetic when he says it. And smug. Terribly smug. “Something you want to tell me, boss?”

Kensi turns away, makes herself focus on the hazelnut beans she’s replacing. “Nothing to tell.”

“Uh huh. Sure.”

She growls, feeling irrational irritation grow.

“Hey,” he immediately says, one hand coming up to protest his innocence as the other yanks his satchel strap over his head. “It’s not bad. Just new.”

“And since when is my love life any one else’s business?”

“So there is a love life!”

Her eyes slide closed on a groan as Deeks crows in success.

“Can’t say I would have guessed him, but-“

“What?”

“Well, he’s not your usual type, is he?”

Kensi can literally feel her eyebrow climbing up her forehead. “My type?”

Deeks ignores the warning signs. “He’s persistent. Not the kind of guy you can just brush off.”

“I don’t-“

This time, it’s Deeks’ eyebrow that arches.

“Okay, I do. I don’t have time for dating.”

He slides into a seat, one of the tall bar stools they have by the big espresso machine. “Kens, you were humming ‘Baby, It’s Cold Outside’. It’s _the_ holiday love song.”

She glares, even though she knows it’s ineffective. She really needs to work on that, she thinks. Deeks is just a little too comfortable. “You and Nell should start a club.”

He flashes her all the pearly whites. “Maybe we already have.”


	14. Chapter 14

Kensi blinks open her eyes and sighs. She’s dreaming. She knows because it’s familiar. And irritating. It’s the same long dark hall she remembers from some function or other, something her dad took her to, she thinks. It’s inconsequential though because she’s looking at the one metaphor she hates. A damn hall of closed doors.

One of the things Owen had forced her to do after her dad died was therapy. It had taken her awhile to find one she didn’t hate. Marlo had been too harsh, Halima too fanciful. Nate, though, Nate had done this before. One of the first things he’d told her was the story of losing his mother. It had been a surprisingly fast bond.

She’d been having the dream for three weeks before she’d finally confessed.

_“What’s behind the doors?”_

_“Good things. Bad things.”_

He’d made a sound of agreement that had left Kensi’s mouth twitching. She’d always liked him, in part because Nate had never made a secret of how he felt about the things she said and the way she looked at things. She always knew where she stood with him.

_“Any you don’t want to look in?”_

There had been then, and there are now. She knows most of the doors by heart now. There’s the one where an old fashioned reel plays old movies of the things she’d do with her dad. Another where her dad walks away, where Jack walks away, where her mom leaves. Good and bad.

And then there’s one door, right at the end. She’s never opened it, never even come close to trying. As long as she’s had the dream, there’s always been a terror that holds her back. She’s always walked past it.

She doesn’t this time.

Something makes her stop this time, stop right in front of that door that’s haunted her forever. She waffles and wavers of course, rocks from the balls of her feet to her heels and back again. She’s not terrified this time, but she’s not brave enough to just swing open the door either.

Until the knocking starts.

There’s never been knocking before, and it’s definitely coming from the door in front of her. It’s pretty insistent too. So, even though her heart is hammering in her chest and her breath is short and harsh in her lungs, she reaches out and turns the knob.

And reveals Callen.

She starts, steps back out of reflex. What the hell? He doesn’t say anything, just watches her. The knocking sounds again. She looks around, confused. She’s opened the door – and holy hello metaphor – there shouldn’t be knocking.

The next time, she jolts awake. The bright green numbers of her alarm clock tell her it’s after eleven. She can’t think of a single person who would be knocking on her door at this hour. So, she grumbles to herself as she throws back her covers.

If it’s Deeks, she’s going to kill him. Slowly and painfully.

But it’s not Deeks. It’s Callen.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

His eyebrow rises, but there’s an uncertainty in his eyes. She’s pretty sure that means there’s seriously something wrong.

“Never mind. Weird dream. Hi.”

“Hi,” he replies, shifting on his feet. He’s nervous? No, she thinks. Not nervous, twitchy. There’s an unsettled energy humming beneath his skin. “I woke you up.”

She shrugs. “I have to be up at five.”

“Five? Then I’ll-“

But she’s already turning on her heel, leaving the door open as she heads for the kitchen. “Coffee?”

He wavers for a moment, but then she hears the door close and smiles. She wonders if maybe he’s missed her like she’s missed him.

Wait, what?

Even the split second thought has her off-kilter enough that when his hand brushes her hip she actually jumps. Bless him, because he ignores it.

“Tea.”

She can’t even really say she’s consciously aware of reaching out to flip on her electric kettle. Instead, she’s focused on him. She knows that. She’s searching his face and actually feels her fingers twitch, itching to reach out for him.

“That bad, huh?”

There’s a split second where he’s surprised enough that all sorts of things spill across his face. She knows because she’s watching. Closely.

“It wasn’t where I wanted to be.”

She took the hint, even as her heart swelled at his implication. The kettle screamed and she distracted herself with making it. Her hands were stead and sure, even though she felt entirely off-balance. Between the dream and just having him there…

The kettle screams.

He watches her hands, she feels it, and even brushes his fingers against her as he takes the tea from her. Then he lets her lead him to the couch. They don’t say anything, Callen, she’s pretty sure, because he can’t and she won’t ask. She won’t put him in that position. Her, because she’s kind of still reeling from her dream.

But it doesn’t seem to matter. She can feel the way his shoulders relax as they sit side-by-side, doing nothing but watching the blank television screen.

And somewhere along the way, her eyelids flutter and her body relaxes.

She’s asleep before she even knows it.


	15. Chapter 15

He’s not beside her when she wakes up. Initially, she panics, her stomach dropping. She hates herself for it because for God’s sake, he’s just a man and she does not ever rely on men. Plus, it’s becoming glaringly obvious that her happy little bubble of denial is developing a hole. But then she hears it. It’s just a tiny noise but it doesn’t take her long to figure out that there’s someone tinkering in another room. As a coffee shop owner she can’t think of anyone who would break in to merely tinker with sometimes so her panic settles. Callen’s still in her apartment.

So she pushes herself from the couch – and that had been a stupid idea, she has muscle groups that are utterly screaming – and heads for the kitchen. He doesn’t emerge while the coffee’s brewing, and she doesn’t take him for the type to get so absorbed that he doesn’t hear every sound. She takes two mugs with her and follows the noise to her bedroom. He’s there, picking apart something on her bed. She clears her throat quietly, even though she’s sure he already knows she’s there. Her face breaks into an involuntary smile as he lifts his head.

“Morning,” she murmurs and feels a blush rise in her face. It’s the intimate way she says it, like they’d done way more than share a couch the night before. For a few hours anyway. From whatever he’s got torn apart on her bed, he’s been up a while.

But his eyes light up, a hell of an expression for a man usually so shuttered. “Morning.”

She watches as he pushes himself from her bed – and there is a part of her that wishes he were doing so under different circumstances – and holds out one of the mugs. “How long have you been up?”

He glances over his shoulder, back to his ‘work’. “A few hours.”

To make sure she doesn’t choke, she has to spit her coffee back into her mug. “Hours?” she sputters. “It’s-“ She glances to her bedside table for her alarm clock. It’s missing. “Where’s my- Is that my clock?”

He glances sheepishly at the pieces on her bed. God, here’s a man she most certainly wants to climb like a tree and he suddenly looks like a little boy with his hand caught in the cookie jar. “It could have been the blender?”

“I don’t have a blender,” she says absently. “You took apart my alarm clock?”

He fidgets. She can feel his arm brush against hers. “I got bored.”

“So you took apart my clock?”

“At least it wasn’t the coffee maker. Or the toaster. Or the DVD player.”

She has to laugh, or she’s pretty sure she’ll scream. “What the hell?”

He shrugs, self-conscious now under her scrutiny. “I don’t sleep.”

“Apparently.”

“I get bored. I didn’t want to just – leave.”

Oh. Well. She has to give him credit there. If the options are having him completely dismantle her alarm clock or leave… She’s strangely glad he’s chosen the former.

“And you need sleep. I figured I would just wake you up.” He checks his watch. “You could have had another half hour.”

She takes another cup of coffee because she’s the type who wakes with her body and doesn’t usually roll back to sleep and because, well, he’d been in her apartment. She hadn’t wanted to miss a second of that. “I’m good.” She reaches over and slides her hand down his bicep. “You owe me a new clock.”

“I can put it back together,” he argues.

“Callen, I believe you are many things and from the way you disappeared a couple of days ago, I would bet you could turn into a whole lot of others, but a mechanic? I find that hard to believe.”

He looks indignant, but Kensi ignores it.

“Breakfast?” she asks instead.

It’s a warm and companionable morning, even with the extremely early hour and the lack of natural light. They eat together – Kensi keeps her fridge stocked, something that seems to absolutely baffle Callen – and Kensi doesn’t think much of leaving him to try and put her clock back together. She trusts him, implicitly, and even the thought that he could go sifting through all of her personal effects doesn’t bother her as much as it should. So she goes about her day with a wide smile on her face.

She’s even humming when she returns home. He’s gone, she can tell by the silence and stillness she can feel, but on her coffee table, right where she can’t miss it, is a wrapped box and a cellophane bag.

 _Kens,_  
You were right.  
A new clock and cookies for my apology.  
C.

Underneath, his chicken scratch is a hastily scribbled bunch of digits she recognizes as a phone number. She bites her lip against the girlish smile that threatens and pulls out her phone.

 _Apology accepted,_ she types. _Next time, try the TV. I could use a new one._

It doesn’t take long for the message to come back.

_In your dreams. Enjoy the gingerbread._

Kensi lets the smile out now, entirely uncaring about the fact that her bubble of denial is past the point of holes. It’s simply non-existent. She has feelings for Callen, even though she’s known him for two weeks.

And even if he does dismantle alarm clocks.


	16. Chapter 16

He finds her on Nell and Eric’s back patio. They’re having another dinner party-slash-wedding planning meeting – and he’d been late because of the debrief day from hell – and she’d slipped out almost fifteen minutes ago. He doesn’t blame her. Somehow, what he’s sure was supposed to be a simple dinner has become a strange taste-test for food and drink they’re considering for the stag and doe. If he has to taste one more peppermint of sugar cookie-flavoured anything, he thinks he may puke.

So he goes after her. Of course he does. The minute she’d managed to slips away he’d felt it like a bug beneath his skin. And he makes sure to slide the back door closed loud enough that she knows someone’s there. She looks worn again, tired like he hasn’t seen her in a while. She’s got her arms wrapped around her stomach, a classic defensive stance. An island unto herself, and he hates how damn isolated she looks. She should never be isolated, he thinks.

“I think I hate peppermint.”

It startles a laugh from her, even though she doesn’t turn. “Christmas theme.”

“Gingerbread. Chocolate. Vanilla.” He stops beside her, brushes his shoulder against hers. They’ve been doing it all night, these odd little touches. The whisper of fingertips or the ghost of heated touch. He likes the idea that he can’t stop herself from reaching for him either.

“Candy canes, little mints.” She leans into him, just a little. Enough that he knows he’s supporting a bit of her weight. She’s off-balance, and the metaphor isn’t lost on him. “Nell’s obsession runs long and deep.”

“I’m getting that sense.” In more ways than one. He’s pretty sure he’s developing one hell of an obsession with the woman who currently smells like the bride’s favourite season. He’s pretty sure that’s just leftover from the time she’s been spending in the Santa’s workshop that’s taken over Nell and Eric’s house.

“Bless her though. She’s not really the type to let you dwell, you know?” She shrugs like it means nothing. Callen knows better. He wonders how many dark and bad days Nell has supported Kensi through.

But there’s also something in her voice, a low tremor that he does not like. Especially coupled with the way her arms are still shielding her from the world. “Kens?”

She shakes her head. “I’m good.”

“You’re not.”

He expects a glare. He’s overstepped his bounds again and he knows it. But she surprises him, offers him a bit of a pained smile instead. Maybe he’s further in than he’d thought. So he goes with his instincts, because they’ve served him pretty well so far. His hand comes up, slides down her arm, cups her elbow. A reassuring touch.

She blows out a breath and he knows he’s got her. “I love Nell. I’m happy for her. She deserves a good guy like Eric and a bunch of ginger-haired hellions. But sometimes watching her and Eric, how happy they are… It’s hard.”

He waits, because he knows. And is entirely rewarded, even as she squares her shoulders like she’s preparing for battle.

“It makes it hard to be alone.”

“Are you?” he asks, and while the question leaves him vulnerable, he thinks it’s worth it for the surprise and hope that darts across her face.

What he does next is only logical. He uses his grip on her elbow to turn her into him, then he cups her face and leans in. She tastes like that damn peppermint, but he finds that the sticky feeling of residual candy on her lips isn’t near as repulsive as eating it. She releases a sigh and he feels her shift against the press of his body, feels the way her arms slide from her stomach to steal around his waist. But that’s all lost in the taste of her when she opens her mouth beneath his.

He accepts the invitation like a man starved. Peppermint, of course, but chocolate and Kensi and he thinks he’s reevaluating his feelings on Nell’s irritating Christmas obsession. He slides his hands into her hair to hold her head still and dives in. It’s so much better than that first kiss under the mistletoe and so much more than he could have ever anticipated. The feel of her, the scent of her, that bloody taste-

She’s the one who breaks away, who tilts her forehead to rest on his. “Okay,” she whispers and a thrill of pride races through him because she sounds absolutely wrecked. “I think I get the picture.”

He laughs, feeling a little pathetic even if it’s totally true: she’s not alone because he can’t walk away.


	17. Chapter 17

His phone chimes at 5am. He can’t stop the smile that blossoms across his face and eagerly accepts her invitation to coffee and breakfast.

But inside, he’s more than a bit of a wreck. He can’t get her off his mind; he can’t get their conversation out of his head. Since the moment he’d laid eyes on her, the concept of Kensi being alone has made his skin crawl. Now, with everything they’ve been through, all of the little things he’s learned about her and about the people she surrounds herself with, his reaction is all the more visceral.

It’s made him lose sleep, in addition to the sleep he always loses as an insomniac. He hadn’t meant to kiss her, yesterday, not really. Just like the first time, she’d looked so sad. All he’d wanted was to cheer her up, to wipe the lonely look off her face and banish the feeling that had obviously plagued her. He hadn’t had the words to do it. He never has the damn words. He’s always been more about action. So he’d acted. He’d done the only thing that had made sense at the time.

Not that he regrets it. He can still taste her, even hours after the fact. When he closes his eyes, he can feel her too. He can smell the coffee in her hair and whatever fruity product she uses. God, he’s gone over her. Absolutely gone and he doesn’t know what to do about it. He’s not dating material. Half of what he does is classified, the other half he never wants to talk about. He doesn’t sleep, he can assemble a rifle faster than he can do a jigsaw puzzle and he is at his most comfortable when he’s undercover, pretending to be someone else. He’s gone constantly, without contact or an end date-

To put it simply, he’s hell.

But Kensi, Kensi’s stable. She’s dependable, reliable, and responsible. She has roots in LA and doesn’t take crap, least of all from him. She deserves more, because crap is all she’ll be getting. Dangerous crap. Really dangerous crap, actually.

By the time he gets to the shop, the breakfast rush is in full swing. He knows by now it’s her favourite part of the day and watches her from just inside the door. She’s in her element, warm and glowing with a soft smile she can’t seem to wipe off her face. It widens when she spots him and despite his own inner turmoil, he’s not blind enough not to notice that she looks better today. She’s back to that settled way she’d been before he’d gone undercover. He likes this Kensi better.

He watches her, feels the way his emotions well up in his stomach and crawl into his chest. She’s utterly beautiful here, in her simple life, and who is he to even threaten to tarnish that? Who is he to drag her down into the dark pits that are his life? She deserves everything, and he can barely promise Hetty he’ll make it back to ops safe and sound. He should leave now, he thinks. He should walk away and let her-

“Everything okay?”

Who is he kidding? Walk away, when he smells coffee in his limited sleep because of her? “Yeah.”

Her face speaks to her disbelief, but she also doesn’t push. Today, it bothers him, maybe more than it should. Shouldn’t she be demanding answers from him? Shouldn’t she be asking him probing questions about what’s going on in his head? Shouldn’t he be thankful she doesn’t, that she seems to get that there are things he just can’t tell her? Yet, he also doesn’t like the idea that she’s been ‘trained’, for lack of a better phrase, not to ask. And the idea that she just knows when and when not to push is a terrifying concept as well.

“Callen?”

There’s concern on her face, even worry, and he doesn’t honestly know how to handle it today. Everything’s churning, messing him up. He can’t keep his temper in check.

“Why don’t you ever ask me anything?”

She blinks and steps back. It takes her a minute, but he watches her spine stiffen and lengthen. She knows what he’s asking and he has to admire the way she doesn’t back down. “Because there are a lot of things you can’t tell me,” she answers quietly. At least one of them is conscious of the audience. “And I can either get upset about that, or accept that.”

“Secrets kill.”

“Exactly,” she says, her chin coming up. “Both you and me. I’m not an idiot, Callen. I get the whole national security thing, I get that there are thousands of things that you legally cannot talk about. The rest of it?” She shrugs. “Maybe I’m just patient.”

“Patient.”

She huffs out a breath and it’s one with the edge of anger. Reading people is what saves his life, and Kensi’s not exactly that much of a closed book. She turns on her heel and he follows her to her office, leaning on the desk as she closes the door.

“I’m not going to tell you I know what’s going on here,” she tells him, leaning against the door. “I have no idea what the hell we’re doing. I have no idea what the hell is going on between us. What I know is that… I woke up this morning and the only thing I wanted to do was see you. Last night, when Nell and Eric were giving the world nasty cavities, the only person I wanted to talk about it with was you. So no, I don’t need to know whatever secret spy missions you’ve been on. I don’t need to know about the firefights you’ve been in, or the men you’ve killed. I don’t need you to promise that you’re always going to come back. I’m not stupid and I’m not a damsel in distress. I can take care of myself, whether you’re around or not.”

“I don’t remember the last time I was home for longer than a week.”

“I don’t remember the last time I was home for more than my required 8 hours of sleep,” she retorts. She won’t give an inch and he’s admired that about her from the beginning.

“I can’t give you the time you need.”

Her eyebrow goes up at that, and he realizes he’s offended her.

“The time _I need_?” she asks, arms crossing below her breasts. “How do you know what I need?”

Wait, what? What on earth- “That’s what-“

“Stop.”

His jaw snaps shut. Hard. He’s going to start grinding his teeth in a minute, he knows it. Why can’t she just see damn sense?

“Callen, I-“ She huffs again, and there’s genuine anger in the sound. She’s not just offended, she’s pissed off, and while he knows he can take her, he’s admittedly a little scared. “I don’t need anyone. Ever. I can get along just fine on my own. If this is about being undercover when I have a bad day, I have friends for that. I have Nell and Rose and hell, Deeks. My therapist is always on speed dial because I know how important it is to have someone to talk to. You can’t be here all the time, I get that. But I don’t need you all the time. Hell, I won’t want you all the time. You have your life and I have mine and yeah, okay, at this point it sounds like a good idea to share, at least for a little while, but I’m not going to start demanding you spend every waking moment with me. You’re the one that planted yourself in my shop. You’re the one that came to my place when you finally surfaced from wherever you were last week. I texted you this morning because I know you don’t sleep and I wanted to see you. Period. No hidden yearnings, no demands.

“If you want to do things on your own, go your own Lone Wolf ways, then okay, go ahead. I’m a big girl. Rejection doesn’t kill me. But don’t you dare put this on me. You don’t get to decide what time I need, I do. That’s it.”

She’s stepped closer during her tirade and even poked her finger into his chest. He’s not sure if it’s the passion in her eyes or the surging emotions in his chest, but he grabs that wrist and pulls her in, wraps his arm around her back until his mouth can take hers. He dives in this time, doesn’t hold back. He takes her mouth desperately, channeling the anger, the frustration and the fact that he cannot understand her and he cannot let her go.

“I could get killed, never come back,” he says when he pull back and goes for her neck. Her body is limp against his, like she can’t get her thoughts together enough to act. She’d responded the same way last night and it’s like nothing he’s ever felt. “You could get killed.”

“You’re too careful,” she finally manages and doesn’t stop him when his hand reaches up for her messy bun. He pulls the chopsticks out and it cascades down her back, brushing against the hand creeping up to her neck. Her faith, that unshakable way she says it, makes him growl and dive in again. All she does is whimper and surrender, digs her fingers into his shoulders as he takes everything she can give and then demands more.

He wants her, he realizes. He needs her, and he spins them around to get at her. He hoists her to her desk, shoving everything back from the edge so he can get right against her. She lets out a sound that is part desperation, part reluctance, but he discards it in favour of the taste of her. And then he gets his hands on her skin beneath her blouse and it becomes about something entirely different. He slides his hands over as much skin as he can, reveling in the way her muscles shake and her breath catches. He’s just catching the edges of her underwire when she manages to push him back.

“Okay, okay. Not here.”

He’s panting hard, and he’s made such a glorious mess of her but he doesn’t care. He wants her and he moves closer with every intention of taking more. She’s quick though and gets both hands on his chest.

“Callen,” she says on a laugh. “This is my office. At work. And there’s a camera.”

It’s the camera that gives him pause. Caught on camera. Hetty would kill him. She might anyway. He has a feeling if he keeps Kensi around, he’ll be pilfering her security footage quite a bit.

“Okay. Look. You’re obviously trying to figure out what’s going on. Good, because I’m not a woman who doesn’t think things through. So… Go. Go do… Whatever it is you do when you think, spar or shoot or-“ She waves her hand to encompass everything she can’t say.

He sees it for what it is. She’s making him step back, to make sense of the way his emotions are spinning. It’s so rare that they do, and it’s terrifying that she can already notice that and push him back. Not that he’s made a secret of it, really. He usually has a much better hold on his emotions. He usually has to.

“Basketball.”

“What?” Her voice is a breath because her body is still trying to remember how to convert oxygen to carbon dioxide.

“I play basketball.”

“Oh.” She nods.

He grins. He’s scrambled her brain again. Isn’t that enough? Screw the emotions, the danger, and everything else, he can turn this composed, intensely-rational woman into a gorgeous mess. He can’t wait to see her in his home, sprawled against his sheets.

“Okay. Go play basketball. When you’ve made a decision…” She shrugs, and while she’d told him she can take rejection, he can see the disappointment that lurks there. He does not want to disappoint her. But he also doesn’t want to hurt her.

He swallows. “Then I know where you are.”

Her smile is a kaleidoscope of emotion and it makes him swallow. “Exactly.”

So he turns to leave – then has to dart back to take her mouth again, to hear her surprised squeak and feel the way her body gives into his – and promises himself as he walks out of that little shop not to return until he knows what he’s doing.

He owes her that.


	18. Chapter 18

Final dress fitting.

With the wedding a week away, it’s like mandatory girl time and thus, torture.

Actually, Kensi quite likes her dress. It’s not an ugly strapless thing – because Nell is much too kind – and if she can find a tailor willing to take the dress to the knee, it is something she could totally wear again. Nell is officially her favourite.

“Oh my God,” Nell says as they all emerge from their change rooms. “You are-“

Kensi just barely resists the urge to roll her eyes. All of this emotion makes her more than a little uncomfortable and she fidgets with the green chiffon of her skirt. She’s been off all day and the way Nell glares at Kensi’s reluctance to join the massive group hug that follows the bride’s tearful exclamation, Nell knows too.

They get their moment as the bridesmaids wrap their arms around each other and head back to the dressing rooms.

“Hey, I want to borrow you,” Nell says.

“Yeah, give me a-“

Nell’s already shaking her head. “I have to do my fitting, and Nan wants a picture of you and me all dressed up. Something about bride day when we were kids.”

“We played that like twice and isn’t that what wedding pictures are for?” Kensi asks, following Nell to the curtained room they’ve put aside for her dress. The seamstress is there, happy and peppy as ever.

“Oh my God, you’re beautiful!” she exclaims. “And so tiny!”

Nell rolls her eyes Kensi’s way while the latter suppresses a laugh. Barely.

“Okay, so I’m Laurie and I’ll be helping you into your dress today. And then obviously making any last minute adjustments, though let’s hope we don’t have those! You’re seven days away, aren’t you?”

“I am,” Nell agrees and fulfills the blushing bride stereotype. The excitement shines in her eyes for another moment before she turns to Kensi. “You too. Nan should be here with Mama in a few minutes. I want to surprise them.”

Kensi huffs because she’s not an idiot, but steps into the fitting room. And Nell attacks.

“You’ve been grumpy all day.”

“I have not,” Kensi argues reflexively.

“You have too. You’ve barely said a word, you are nowhere near as diplomatic with my cousins as you usually are and you barely cracked a smile when you put that dress on. And do not forget I was there when you picked it out and we both know you look gorgeous.”

“Oh you really do,” the seamstress pipes up with a serious nod. “Perfect fit and if you get it shortened it’ll work for any formal affair.”

Kensi offers Laurie a tight smile before she turns back to Nell. “I’m fine.”

Nell steps into the dress Laurie’s pulled off the hangar, shimmying to get it over her hips. “Can we not do this today?” she asks. “I know you’re all independent and whatever, but I’m not up to playing guess what’s wrong with Kensi.”

Kensi backs up until she can lean against the wall, folding her arms across her chest. “It’s nothing to worry about.”

“Okay, you know why I picked you for the maid of honour, right? Because I know that my wedding day will be perfect because you don’t let anything slip through the cracks. So stop thinking I’m going to shatter at any minute and just- Is it Callen?”

“Why does it have to be Callen?”

“Um, because the rest of your life is, like, perfect?” Nell says. “You run your own company, you have the greatest friends, thanks, and you don’t have that super irritating family life thing, no offence.”

Because it’s Nell, the pang that usually accompanies shots about her lack of biological family doesn’t hurt as much. “Wow.”

Now Nell huffs. “Personal is the only answer and you’ve been doing the personal with Callen for three weeks now.”

“He tried to tell me he won’t have enough time for me,” Kensi finally says. “He tried to explain that we wouldn’t work because he’s never here and there are going to be days where he can’t be here, even if I need him.”

“You don’t need anyone,” Nell retorts. “I mean, you’ve got us regardless and whatever, but when have you ever needed anyone.”

“That’s what I said.”

“And?”

“And he doesn’t know.”

Nell lets out an irritated noise. “What is there not to know?”

“Again, that’s what I said.”

“And?”

“And he’s thinking about it.”

Nell growls. “There’s nothing to think about. What is there to think about? There’s you, there’s him, and shouldn’t he be kind of glad that you don’t need him around? I mean they do undercover things, right?”

“That was my logic.”

“Then I don’t get it.”

Kensi does, if she’s honest, at least on an abstract level. She’s had a lot of time to think about it. She understands the danger thing, she gets that there are enemies behind every door for him, and she understands that it probably terrifies him to put himself out there, to make himself vulnerable like that. Her dad did the same thing, for Pete’s sake, she’s not unfamiliar with the concept.

But on the personal level, she doesn’t either. They’ve had fun together, she thinks, and shared a handful of really good kisses. There are a lot of things she doesn’t care about when it comes to him – the undercover, the carrying a gun, the absolutely terrifying idea that she could be targeted – because she trusts him.

She trusts him.

“I trust him.”

Nell’s head swings around and Laurie lets out a yelp as she tries to move with the bride. “I beg your pardon?”

“Callen. I trust him.”

Nell blinks. “After three weeks and no major Kensi tests?”

Yeah, she sees that too. But what is she supposed to do? It’s the truth, or there’s no way she would have told Callen half the things she had.

“This is big.”

Kensi rolls her eyes, but can’t stop the twitch of a smile at the corner of her mouth. “Shut up.”

“No, like, really big.”

“I said shut up.”

Laurie steps back at that moment with a satisfied look on her face. “Well there we go! Don’t you look wonderful?”

Nell’s breath audibly catches as she looks at herself in the mirror and Kensi finds her own doing the same. She’d been there for the actual choice, but to see it all fitted to her, to see Nell’s eyes tear up, that’s something entirely different.

“Oh my God, Nell. You’re getting married.”

Nell sniffles, brings her best friend closer as they stand side by side in that bridal mirror, both barefoot in formalwear. “I am.”

. . . . .

Final suit fitting.

With the wedding a week away, it’s essentially mandatory torture.

For Callen, a man infinitely more comfortable in jeans and a t-shirt, anything more formal just seems patently unfair. The green of the waistcoat and tie hurts his eyes and the suit chafes in places he thinks maybe they shouldn’t, even though the tailor argues that it’s a perfect fit.

“I thought Hetty would be the only reason I’d put one of these on,” he grumbles to Sam as they stand in front of a long mirror.

“Or your own wedding.”

For the first time since they’d met, the gentle teasing actually doesn’t get a response from Callen. Sam arches an eyebrow as he turns to his partner.

“What, no immediate ‘no’?”

Callen shrugs. Or tries to. He knows it’s not as nonchalant as he’d have wanted.

Thing is, he’s still pretty torn. He’d gone straight to the courts yesterday for a couple of pick up games and ended up shooting free throws and three-pointers well into the night. He does not know what to do.

On the one hand, everything he’d said to Kensi had been completely true. He’s terrified in ways he’s never been before at the concept of her. He’ll admit normally it’s a protective instinct, normally he wouldn’t get involved with a woman because he just, quite frankly, doesn’t really want it. But Kensi… He wants Kensi. He wants her snark and her sass and the easy way she takes whatever he says and does in stride. He wants all her hidden corners, the trauma of her father and Jack and the woman it made her. He wants the 5am mornings and the long unpredictable hours that gives him an excuse to visit her at work.

The thing is he also knows the type of man he is. He’s distant, he’s stand-offish, probably even cold on occasions. He has a hard time putting the agent aside for the person because he has no idea who that person is. He has coping mechanisms, not hobbies, he barely sleeps more than twenty minutes at a time, and he’s learned more languages because of it than he can shake a fist at. He can become anyone at will, and tends to do so at the drop of a hat. He reads people and becomes what they want him to be.

He doesn’t know who Kensi wants him to be. He thinks maybe the idea that she wants him to be himself is more terrifying than anything they could build together.

And isn’t that it’s own awesome and terrifying thought: build together.

But he wants it, with a thirst he hasn’t felt since he’d been chasing down the Chameleon. He wants to build something with Kensi, because she’s different. Because as much as he’s terrified he’s going to put her in danger, he also knows that he won’t. He can’t. He’d never risk it.

His eyes move to Sam’s in the mirror and he curls a lip at the knowing look in his eyes.

“I hear they’re up in women’s fittings,” Sam offers.

Callen barely debates the thought before he’s moving.

. . . . .

“Are you here with a bride?”

“No, I’m looking for someone.”

Kensi’s head comes up from Nan’s shoulder – they’d arrived just seconds after she and Nell had dealt with their ‘moment’ in the change room – her eyes absolutely shocked. He’s here?

Nell shrugs when Kensi looks her way. “It was easier to book all the fittings at the same time. You and I both know Eric never would have done it.”

Kensi’s around the corner half a moment later and feels her breath catch. He looks good in a suit. “Callen?”

“Kens- Whoa.”

Well, she thinks as she watches him take her in, that’s intensely gratifying. Her stomach flips.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” she says, wary, nervous. Her hands shift in front of her, fingers tangling and untangling. She doesn’t know what to do. She wants to scream at him, wants to tell him that he’s stupid and he’s being an idiot and they shouldn’t even be discussing this because they both want it. She hates that she feels like the decision isn’t hers to make.

“I don’t know what we’re doing,” he tells her. “I have no idea and I was up half the night trying to figure it out.”

“You’re up half the night anyway,” she says, aware her voice is shaking and hating it. She swallows and hopes the lump goes with it.

There’s a moment and it’s funny because she knows how closed off he is, how closed off he can be, and yet she can read in his face that moment of pleasant surprise, that she’s barely blinking at the fact that she knows something he considers so intimate about himself.

“I need time to figure it out,” he says. “But I don’t want to stop.”

Time. She can do time, can’t she? She’s been patient before, for Jack, for her dad, for Owen. She can do it again.

“I want to give you answers,” he goes on. “But I don’t have them. I don’t have any of the answers you deserve-“

“Hey. Stop. Look. Let me think about that. Let me find those answers.” Her hands are on his cheeks. She hadn’t even realized she’d moved. “You worry about you, and I’ll worry about me, and somehow, we’ll muddle along in the middle. It’s worked so far.”

She can tell he still doesn’t like it, that there’s still something about it that bothers him, but she knows it’s the best she can give him. And she’s pretty sure it’s the best he can give her. So she leans in, and thrills when he doesn’t hesitate to kiss her back.


	19. Chapter 19

The stag and doe is loud and borderline obnoxious.

Really, Callen should have known. The party at the beginning of this whole thing had been that too, loud and crazy and a bit reckless. This tops that, of course, because it’s not just family here, but friends. Friends who apparently like to let loose now and again.

He’s just here for moral support, he tells himself. It’s not entirely a lie, but he knows it’s not entirely new either. After the fittings yesterday – and Jesus, he’d had dreams about her dress – he and Kensi had very deliberately parted ways. As much as he feels the way he’s drawn to her, he’d been glad for the reprieve. Her confidence in him, in them, is inspiring and it’s taken him time to kind of come to terms with it.

But he has.

Oh has he ever.

So yeah, maybe he’s here for more than just moral support – because this is not his thing _at all_ – but no one needs to know that but him. And Kensi, but he hasn’t been able to find her.

He has no doubt she’s around though, probably flitting from one thing to the next. He knows why Nell’d chosen her, understood it weeks ago when he’d seen her office and her shop. He wonders if she’ll even be carrying a clipboard, keeping track of events and people. He thinks that kind of thing would be right up her alley.

He’s so focused on it, in fact, that he doesn’t hear her.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

She smiling and she looks relaxed, like she didn’t agonize all night over making the right decision. Maybe she’d been onto something with the whole living their lives thing. She turns and settles beside him – because where else would he be but holding up a wall along the edges – and sure enough, even has a clipboard.

“And how does it feel to be the principal of this motley crew?”

Kensi rolls her eyes. “I’m not. It’s like the bridal shower. I’m just here to smooth the bumps and make sure Nell has a good time.”

“Admirable.”

She snorts and then turns her head when she hears her name. The woman who runs up is frazzled and more than a little apologetic.

“Greg’s drunk.”

Kensi sighs.

“Really drunk,” the woman goes on. “Like, I’m going to take him home drunk. I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay,” Kensi says, though Callen gets the feeling Kensi’s not getting much of a choice in the matter.

“Greg.”

“Santa,” she murmurs absently. “Nell really wanted one. We’re going to have to find a replacement.”

“Ah.”

It takes a minute, but eventually her eyes cut to his. Then her body turns in the slow way he’s seen Hetty’s do when she’s about to convince him to take on a role he hadn’t wanted to, when he’s about to throw himself into a no-win situation.

“No.”

“Look, you put on disguises for a living right? New people, new places, new stories?”

He stays silent.

“It’s exactly like that.”

“There’s kids.”

She shrugs. “And hot women.”

He growls. As cliché as it sounds, there’s only one hot woman he gives a crap about at the moment.

“Come on. Pretend it’s going undercover. It’ll be easy.”

It’s not.

It’s really, really not.

He sits for two hours under hot lights in a heavy suit asking a bunch of kids what they want for Christmas. And, as if that isn’t enough, he does get the aforementioned hot women, but they’re drunk and giggling and while Callen will admit that he’s been a fan of this kind of situation in the past, his eyes keep sliding to Kensi. She’s stayed by his side, watching and organizing, silent and steady. The fact that she’s even there is the only thing that keeps him seated when he has to hang onto a wailing toddler.

The minute Kensi latches the ‘red rope’ – it’s a Christmas garland and he almost, _almost_ wants to puke – he’s out of his throne and disappearing back to the little conference room he’d changed in. He’s half stripped when there’s a soft knock at the door.

“Yeah?”

She slips in, no clipboard this time, and she looks more mischievous than he’s ever seen her. “Got time for one more wish, Santa?”

And what the actual hell? But he sits, because it’s Kensi and if she’s going to sit on his lap, well. “Is there something you wanted?”

She bites her lip for a minute. The uncertainty in her face shouldn’t be adorable and it shouldn’t be so heartbreaking either. But he’s patient and a moment later she approaches and settles herself on her knee.

“Your wish?”

“This.”

And she’s kissing him. Well, that sure as hell makes up for the two hours in the suit. She smells like Christmas again and she feels warm and soft. She doesn’t let them get carried away though and pulls back, eyes only slightly glazed.

“Okay, but actually? I have a favour I wanted to ask.”

“A favour.”

It takes her a minute - actually it takes her a couple of minutes – but eventually, the eyes she’d let drop to where her fingers play with his suspenders rise to his. “I have a thing tomorrow. I want you to come."

His eyebrow flies up. "A thing?"

"Yeah," she answers. 

Her smile is small, shy, but so compelling.

Oh hell.

“What time?”

“Callen-“

And maybe that’s the other thing he really likes about this, that she doesn’t expect anything of him, because it’s the eyeroll that really cements the decision. She wants him there, but she’s not going to hold a grudge if he doesn’t go.

“What time?”

She huffs. “I’ll text you.”

But he gets her hips, holds her fast – thinks maybe he could actually throw her around if he wanted to and files that information away for a more opportune moment – and asks again.

“Two.”

“I’ll pick you up.”


	20. Chapter 20

No presents

That's what she'd made him promise when he'd picked her up that afternoon. The Christmas market she directs him to is loud and bustling. It's not his kind of place. There are people everywhere, he barely has enough room to move, let alone keep up with her. He can't say he minds, really, because she keeps her fingers woven between his so they don't get separated.

Except, it turns out the market is a team affair, the one afternoon they close down the shop to wander through a freaking Christmas market. A quaint and adorable market for sure (though yes, he would die before admitting that out loud) but God if it doesn't feel like he's meeting her parents.

So naturally, they divide and conquer.

And that's how Callen ends up walking through a tourist trap of a Christmas market with the chattiest man he's ever met. And consequently, Kensi's guard dog.

"So. Twenty days, huh?"

Callen keeps quiet. If this is Deeks' way of interrogating him, Callen's been through much, much worse.

"S'a long time for Kensi. She's not exactly the poster child for solid relationships and sharing."

Callen doesn't rise to the bait, no matter how fiercely he wants to rebuke Deeks' assumption. If there are thigs Kensi hasn't mentioned, Callen's not going to betray her confidence, not when he's intimately familiar with how much it takes to trust people with secrets.

"Ah, the silent type. Can't say that's what I expected since Kens doesn't do much talking herself, but I get it. Can't share national secrets if you don't talk."

Callen huffs. "Do you talk this much at work? Why hasn't Kensi found a muzzle for you?"

"He speaks!" Deeks crows triumphantly, and Callen winces at the attention it draws/

"Nah, Kens loves me."

"Like a virus, maybe."

"You on the other hand," and Callen is more than a little startled by the other mans' sudden seriousness. "You're the unknown."

Callen arches a brow.

"Look, Kens. She puts up a pretty good face. Independent business owner, well-loved in her community, dealt with a rough childhood, no mom, dad killed LOA-"

"I get it."

But there's an awareness in Deeks' eyes, maybe because there's no surprise in Callen's.

"Thing is, there's no woman out there that deserves more than Kensi."

Callen feels himself go hot then cold. Can he be that man? Someone she can always depend on, someone who can give her the world? What about the time he's undercover? And he's not exactly Mister Open-Book himself. What happens when she gets fed up with everything he can't and won't tell her?

"But."

Callen looks over.

"You've been good for her," Deeks admits. "She actually leaves the shop now. She takes time off. She opens up."

Callen's chest aches. He can see the trust pained all over Deeks' face, the way he is willing to put this very precious things in Callen's care.

"So. You're either with her whole-heartedly, or you're not with her at all. Those are your options."

They are options Callen chews on, even as he picks up a beautifully carved knife from a nearby vendor. No presents, she'd said, but Deeks' words ring loudly in his ears. But the symbolism of buying her a knife, of purchasing it with the intent of giving it to Kensi, doesn't hit him until a couple of hours later when she's manufactured some time for just the two of them.

"Did Deeks say something?" she asks, leading him to a bench. "You've been quiet."

He's let her too far in if she can see that. He slides his free hand into the bag at his hip, handing her the knife.

"Callen."

"I know," he says, responding to the subtle rebuke in her voice. He swallows. "In the new year, once this whole wedding insanity is over, I'll teach you to use it."

There's an awareness in her gaze that makes him nervous. "Trying to keep me safe, Agent?" she asks, just under the buzz of the crowd around him.

He hadn't been, not consciously, but he can see it now. "I'm not safe."

She hums, surprising him with the easy way she pulls the knife from its sheath. It fits easily, comfortably in her hand and she looks comfortable with it. And sexy as hell. There's a strange sense of safety that flows through him.

"Dad put me in martial arts classes when I was thirteen," she reveals with a secretive smile. "Jack had me take kickboxing with him after his attack."

Callen blinks. That certainly hadn't been what he'd expected. He lets her weave her fingers between his again.

"You don't have to worry about me," she says. "Your job doesn't scare me."

His heart stutters because yeah, it had been on his mind. And yet, she'd simply cracked herself open, shown him another piece of her that apparently even Deeks wasn't aware of. He feels strange about the whole thing, like he should go with his first instinct, should walk away. But she's smiling at him, this secretive thing that he cannot walk away from.

He draws in a breath, hates how much it shakes, how his heart is shifting, making room for her to settle right in. His hand slides under the curtain of her hair, pulls her in for a fierce, emotional, all-consuming kiss. He takes and takes and takes, and wonders how and what he can give back.


	21. Chapter 21

His hands fiddle with the little box, no bigger than his palm. He’s nervous, he realizes, and by nervous he means borderline terrified. He’s not sure why he’s doing it. He’s a practical man, and sharing what he’s about to is completely impractical. In fact, it basically cracks his chest open with the hope that Kensi not going to reach in, snatch his heart, and shatter it to pieces. He’s not even sure if it’s strange that he’s sharing it, or stranger that he wants to.

“Hey.”

He looks up and she’s there, standing in front of him, her head poked out of her shop door.

“You coming in?”

 “I was hoping you could come out.”

Her eyebrow wings up, but in a move that he’s coming to associate rather comfortably with her, she doesn’t ask questions. “I’m going to need an hour to get some paperwork off my desk.”

“Want company?”

She holds the door open for him, even buys him a coffee. He tries to sit still, he really does. He thinks normally he probably would, what with her sitting there, hair pulled back so it’s out of her way, concentration written in every line of her face. Except he’s nervous, and he’s not really all that good at sitting still, at being patient, when he’s nervous.

“Should I be concerned?” she asks twenty minutes in, like he hasn’t been driving her nuts with the constant tapping.

“No,” he answers. “It can wait.”

She sighs, but it’s only exasperation this time. “Callen. What’s up?”

He shakes his head. He can’t tell her. He just can’t. It’s a show thing, not a tell thing and he can see the indecision in her eyes for a split second before her face turns grim and determined. “Okay. Let’s go.”

And God, that’s another thing he’s not used to. There’s a way she’s been throwing herself into his trust and he doesn’t know what to do with it. He's not used to this much trust placed into his hands and while part of him thinks it's beautiful, it's also terrifying.

He's silent in the car, but it's not an awkward one. She hums to herself, barely loud enough to hear as she looks out the window, as she watches the scenery pass. It's strangely comforting considering how anxious he feels and he feels his heart-rate slow. It's the calmest he's been for this particular tradition.

She does look at him when they pull into the parking lot. "A graveyard?"

The anxiety does come back then, and he finds himself sliding his hand into his pocket and the black box he'd hidden away. "My sister's here."

To her credit, she doesn't immediately ask questions. She does slip her hand into his when they meet at the hood of the car, and keeps an easy pace with him as he leads her to Hannah's grave. She stands close when they stop, as he tries to gather himself for the next step.

"What was she like?"

He swallows. He hates this part. "I don't know."

He can feel the way her body jolts in surprise.

"I never knew her. We were never in the same foster home."

"Callen," she breathes.

He knows it tells her everything, tells her about his life, his childhood, the way he grew up. He holds his breath for a few moments, but when she doesn't move, he relaxes. He pulls the box from his pocket then, very reluctantly releases her hand so he can open it. A small glass angel is nestled in the fabric and glints in the sun.

"I found her three years ago," he admits. "I was too young when I went into foster care. I never remembered her."

Her hand presses against his shoulder blade, but it's the only comfort she offers. He's glad for it, to be honest. He's not all that emotional by nature and isn't all that accepting of comfort. Not that he feels particularly sad, more just separate. Like he missed out on a big part of life. Like he should have known her.

"And the angel?"

He shrugs. "I saw it in the store. Thought she should have it."

It's the perfect opening and he nestles the glass figurine into the grass. When he stands again, she steps up right behind him. He can feel the gentle heat of her against his back.

"Thank you," she murmurs, like anything louder will break the somber mood. "For letting me meet her."

He reaches back for her, a desperate grip and she just holds him back.


	22. Chapter 22

It’s been an intense couple of days. They both know that, but Callen still feels guilty when he doesn’t wake up and immediately head for Kensi’s coffee shop. He doesn’t text her either, doesn’t do much of anything. He goes into the hacienda and works out, cleans all of the guns in the armoury, everything.

He just… he needs to regroup. He needs to reevaluate. He’s cracked himself open with Kensi and there’s a big part of him that doesn’t know why. More than that, he has no idea how. How the hell had she managed to weasel her way into places he’s literally let no one go before? He should be nervous, terrified even and he is.

And yet, it also just feels right.

“I don’t believe you’re supposed to be here, Mister Callen.”

He doesn’t jump, though he thinks his body considers it. Hetty has that ability and while part of him abhors it, part of him also hopes to be that good one day. Something to aspire to, assuming the job or Kensi don’t kill him first. And isn’t that an interesting thought in itself, the fact that he’s even considering what Kensi would think, what Kensi would do if he showed up injured one day.

“Is there something on your mind?”

Oh, ho, ho. He knows better than to answer that one. Hetty’s a ninja in a lot of ways, but when it comes to these confession moments, he knows how this works. So he focuses on the gun in front of him, keeps his head down, and doesn’t say a word. The problem is Hetty is much more adept at this game than he is. Her patience is legendary and he knows he has two choices: start talking, or get out as fast as possible.

Except he’s got a gun in front of him, still in all it’s pieces. He knows which way this is going to go.

“Have you spoken to Miss Blye?”

“I saw her yesterday.”

Shit. There goes his theory to not engage the dragon.

Hetty hums. “And how did she like Hannah?”

He should have known. He really should have known. Hetty had been the one to find Hannah to begin with, to tell him she’d existed. He doesn’t even remember being separated from his sister and this woman, a tiny woman who has been more of a parent to him than anything he’s ever known.

“There’s nothing to like.”

“Ah.”

He hates it when she does that, when she uses that tone that tells him he’s being an idiot.

“Has Mister Hanna met your sister?”

Maybe she’s not being that subtle after all.

“You think it’s significant.”

Hetty shrugs, even lifts her hands. “The fact that Miss Blye is the only one you have taken to visit your sister does seem unique.”

“You’re reading too much into it,” Callen argues, has to argue. There’s a ball of panic in his chest, the same panic he’d had a few days ago at the market, and a few days before that. Kensi’s so close is the thing and he cannot help the way he thinks he’s going to destroy her. Or be the death of her. It’s really a bit of a 50/50.

“I think you underestimate Miss Blye.”

“You’re poking your nose in,” Callen accuses.

“On the contrary, the well-being of my agents is of utmost importance.”

“What’s between Kensi and I is none of your business.”

Hetty just hums again and he hates that. Hates it so much, especially when he seems to be teetering on this utterly irritating precipice of what the hell he’s supposed to do with a brunette he wasn’t supposed to like. Fundamentally, he honestly doesn’t know.

“Has she told you about her father?”

It’s a rhetorical question. He can already see the point she wants to make crystallizing in front of him. Kensi can protect herself, but she’s never faced the people he does. They could get to her in the middle of the night, leave him broken and vulnerable, willing to do anything to get her back.

He can’t risk her.

“I do believe, with a little training and maybe a different life, Miss Blye would have made an excellent agent.”

“But she’s not,” Callen says, feels the way the temper rises up in him. “She’s not an agent, she’s a civilian and she’s been through enough. She doesn’t deserve this. She doesn’t deserve to have this dumped on her.”

“I should think that is out of your realm of expertise,” Hetty replies calmly and he hates that, hates that she’s made him lose his temper while she’s kept her own. Because his life is a cliché, his phone chimes before he can reply.

 _Tree looks a little lonely_ her message says, _I think it misses you._

Attached is a picture of the Christmas tree he’d made her buy, the decorations he’d dragged her around to get sparkling in the LA December light. He feels the ache in his heart that he’s not there to see it, that he hasn’t seen her today at all. All of his initial reasons, all of his need for solitude and distance evaporate in the face of the bright and friendly greenery.

“You should try her collection of teas,” Hetty says and there’s a smugness in her voice that sets his teeth on edge. But he’s already slotting the gun back together as fast as his hands will let him. He can read between the lines. Maybe a coffee’s in order anyway.

He’s already driving before he realizes what this means, before he lets himself even consider it: she’s too far in for him to push her out.

And it’s still terrifying.


	23. Chapter 23

It’s been a long, chaotic day. She has a hot milk stain down the front of her blouse, the remains of a customer’s latte down her leg (an accident, on both sides) and she knows her ponytail isn’t near as perfect as it needs to be for Nell and Eric’s rehearsal dinner. She wants nothing more than to go home and have a shower, but all she can do is text Nell an apology as she rushes through the front door of the hall, dress bag in hand. She’ll change in the bathroom, she thinks.

“There you are.”

Panicked eyes look up, but she relaxes almost immediately when she just sees Callen coming towards her, no accusation in his gaze.

“You look like hell,” he says, even as he reaches for her free hand.

“Thanks,” she answers with a roll of her eyes. Even so, she knows there’s a genuine smile playing around the corners of her mouth. She’s missed him.

“I’m glad I caught you,” he goes on, tugging on her hand and leading her away from the loud voices she can hear.

“Dinner-“

“Can wait. Come on.”

He leads her down the hall and it takes her a minute to realize where they’re going. “Callen, Nell sent me pictures, I don’t need to-“

But they turn the corner into what she’s affectionately dubbed the “Ceremony Room” and Kensi realizes in startling clarity that Nell’s camera phone had not done the room justice. White gauzy netting sparkled with tiny fairy lights above their heads. The chars were covered in white fabric, subtly printed with snowflakes that shimmered when they caught the light. Nell’s flowers were there too, vines snaking around the arch at the front, while wildflowers overflowed from urns and vases along the aisle.

“It’s beautiful,” she says, barely registering the way Callen slips her dress bag from her grasp. Then he links their arms and starts down the aisle.

She laughs a little. “What are we doing?”

“You missed the rehearsal,” he answers easily. “We can’t afford the maid of honour messing up her duties on the big day.”

She whacks at his arm, but lets her keep leading him along.

“Now, obviously this won’t be me,” he says, “but Steve will walk you down the aisle. Thankfully, it’s not a long walk and you guys will split at the end here.”

He nudges her away and she surprises herself with how reluctantly she goes.

“Another step over,” he instructs and Kensi laughs, but does as she’s told. Her crappy day is already fading in the face of his easy calm.

“Then comes the bridal march that never ends, where Nell, Nell’s entire family and Eric will cry.”

“Ten bucks says the bridesmaids do too.”

He watches her for a moment, then murmurs. “Twenty says the maid of honour will join them.”

She tries to look scandalized at the though and hates that she probably hadn’t pulled it off. To his credit, Callen says nothing, just clears his throat.

“They do the whole giveaway thing, which, if I were Nell’s parents I’d totally reconsider. Eric can’t even wear pants or real shoes in the office. It’s a constant source of headache for Hetty. And Nell’s parents are expecting him to take care of her?” He exaggerates a shiver.

“I don’t think it works like that,” she manages though her laughter.

He chuckles too. “Definitely not. Nell takes care of Eric way more than it works the other way around.”

Her laughter quiets as she looks away from him, looks out at the whole room. “They’re perfect.”

“No one’s perfect,” he replies quietly.

“And that’s the best part. Nell’s a bit neurotic, she’s extremely anal and sometimes incredibly bossy and domineering for a woman so small. But Eric doesn’t let her get away with any of that. He doesn’t let her take herself too seriously. He doesn’t let her get lost in her work. He’s pulled her out of a lot of dark corners where I couldn’t.”

He watches her settle on the raised platform that will serve like a stage. “And you?”

“Sorry?”

He settle down beside her, but doesn’t reach for her. “Who pulls you out of your dark corners?”

It speaks volumes about their relationship that she doesn’t argue she has no dark corners and she knows it. She wraps her arms around her knees.

“Sometimes it’s Deeks,” she says. “There’s an old Portuguese man that loves talking about Portugal, about his family, his grandkids. He comes in a couple of times a week. Sometimes it’s Nell.” She doesn’t have to tell him the latter is for the really bad days. She looks at him, rests her cheek on her knee. “Today it was you.”

She doesn’t think he even realizes he’s reaching for her until he runs a hand down her back. He looks just as startled at the action when he finally makes contact. He swallows. “I’m glad.”

But she can see the turmoil in his face and sighs. She can read the fear there too, the nervousness, like the gladness is overshadowed by concern that he can’t be that person for her. She pushes herself up, intent on her dress and the rehearsal dinner they should both be at, but he catches her hand.

“Kens-“

She shakes her head, but he holds fast.

“I want to be that person.”

She looks back at him, sees it in his eyes, the way they burn. He really does want it, but isn’t sure it’s real, if he can fulfill the role. So she turns to face him, lets him tug her closer. She cups his cheek in her hand.

“It’s not something to be scared of,” she says. “It’s not a deal breaker.”

“I’m gone. A lot.”

“I know,” she promises with a smile that shakes. “I have friends, Callen. I have Nell and Deeks and Rose. And when things get really bad, I still make appointments with Nate. I’m a big girl.” Her thumb strokes over his cheek. “I don’t need a caretaker. I need a partner. Can you be that?”

“Partners have your back.”

“And there are times they can’t, right? Times they can’t always pull through? But that doesn’t mean you rely on them any less, that they mean anything different.”

“I’m not home. A lot.”

She rolls her eyes. “Callen, I don’t need you,” she tells him. “I’ve been on my own for a long time now and I’ve proven to a lot of people that I don’t need anyone. But there are people I want in my life. You are one of those people. Don’t cheapen that.”

He ducks his head and her hand drops. She feels the loss of contact acutely, even though his hand is still gripping hers.

“Is this something you see for yourself,” he asks instead. “The white dress, the ceremony, the family? The happiness?”

It feels like a test. “I don’t have any family left. You dodged a bullet on that one.”

He doesn’t look amused and she knows it’s not the answer he’s looking for. So she sits down again, lets him tangle their fingers together and pulls strength from the contact.

“Every girl dreams of her wedding,” she admits. She offers him a tight smile. “Mine was shattered when my father was killed.”

He winces. She’s twistedly pleased that he does not like reminding her.

“I thought I had a second chance with Jack. I’d even resigned myself to walking down the aisle without my dad.” She laughs, but it’s not a happy sound. “We both know how that turned out.”

“He’s an idiot.”

She squeezes his hand, can’t stop himself from leaning her head on his shoulder. “Thanks. But that’s not my point.” She props her chin on his shoulder now, waits for him to look at her. “I don’t need a wedding to be happy. I don’t need the promise of a wedding to be happy. I need good people in my life, not promises.”

He leans his forehead against hers. “You deserve promises. All of the promises that I can’t make.”

“Don’t make me promises, they’re too easily broken,” she whispers. “I don’t need them. And I don’t need you, Callen, not really. But I want you. That’s enough for me.”

He cups her cheek this time and kisses her desperately, his hand threading through her ponytail to keep her close. She lets him, she knows and offers him a smile when they part. His eyes are so blue, she thinks, so very, very blue.

“It’s enough for me too,” he tells her. “It’s… more.”

She laughs, warps an arm around his neck. “Yeah,” she agrees.

It’s more.


	24. Chapter 24

He expects to be bored by the wedding. It’s not his thing, by far. Weddings mean people and they mean families. He is not good with people and most definitely not with families. But then Kensi walks down the aisle and as he watches her he’s surprised to find himself reflecting on her, on the last 24 days and on this moment.

Because the minute he’d moved to undercover work, he’d given up this idea. He’d assumed this stereotype American dream wasn’t in the cards for him. No wife, no kids, no white picket fence. He’d come to terms with that. And then he’d met Kensi.

She makes him want to do more, to do better. She makes him think that maybe, just maybe, he could have this, have these moments. He could have her and keep her and keep her safe. It’s the first time he’s looked at another person, let alone specifically a woman, and hoped for a future that didn’t include leaving the world via a bullet.

He’s thinking about it now.

He thinks about it through the droning of the minister, through Nell and Eric’s teary vows – he makes his ten bucks easily there – and through the procession out. He thinks about it through the speeches, even hers, and well into dessert. It isn’t until he notices Kensi wiping her eyes at the picture of Nell and her dad, and Eric and his mom that he pulls himself from his new insane dream.

He shuffles to Nell’s seat and slides his hand down her back. It’s not a conscious move, just the itch to touch, one he’s now kind of used to. She stiffens, and swipes at her eyes again.

“I’m fine.”

“Sure you are.”

She leans back into his palm, leans just a little towards him and he shuffles closer before he realizes he’s doing it. Her head falls to his shoulder.

“I always figured Owen would be around for this,” she tells him softly. “After my dad died.”

His heart hurts. It clenches hard and makes it difficult to breathe. She tucks her hand in his and he tries not to think about how incredibly tactile she is tonight, about what that says.

“Have you thought about fixing things? With him?”

“All the time,” she admits with a bit of a sad smile. “He always used to tell me I reminded him too much of my dad. I always figured that was why he’d had to leave. I can’t do that to him again.”

His arm wraps around her tighter, pulls her closer. His fingers slip and slide against the silk of her dress as he takes in that painful confession.

“I don’t think it’s in the cards for me anyway.”

And that makes it worse. He doesn’t like feeling like he’s keeping her from her happy ending. After everything she’s been through, it’s not what she deserves.

“I work too hard,” she says softly. “My store comes first. Always comes first. There are people there who rely on me, and plenty who haven’t understood that.”

He swallows and his throat has such a massive lump in it he’s sure she must feel it. “I can see it.”

She hums, an acknowledgement and a question at the same time.

“You. The white dress. The white picket fence.”

She hums again, but doesn’t argue.

“You deserve it,” he says softly. “The happily ever after.”

He’s surprised when she laughs. “I’d be so bored.” She turns to him, throws her legs over his. He can’t say he minds the way she’s folded herself into him.

“It’s what I like about you,” she murmurs into his neck. “No assumptions, no pressure, no expectation. Just you. Just me.”

They fall silent for a few moments, watching Nell and Eric come together again. Nell nestles into Eric easily, wraps her arms around him and closes her eyes. They make quite the picture.

“See?” Kensi murmurs. “They fit.”

Callen watches the easy way Nell and Eric sway, the simplicity they seem to represent. They make it look easy.

“It’s not,” Kensi says.

He blinks, confused.

“Easy,” she says on a laugh. “But I think you know that.”

He tugs her closer.

“They make it work,” she says. “They make time for each other in the chaos.”

“You’re feeling reflective.”

She laughs, wipes under her eyes again. She’s so, so emotional, not that he can blame her. “Apparently weddings make me sappy.”

They sit for a few more minutes.

“I like that about you, too,” he murmurs. “No pressure.”

“Well, it’s hard to pressure you.”

“Kensi-“

She chuckles, leans her head back and presses a kiss to his jaw. “You know, Agent Callen, I think you’re really a softy.”

He looks down at her, at the way her eyes are shining in mirth and mischief and something just a little bittersweet. He leans in and presses his mouth to hers. It’s gentle and careful, thorough. She sighs when he pulls back and he smiles. He loves that, the easy way she accepts such simple pleasures.

“I want you to come home with me tonight.”

He blinks down at her in surprise. She laughs a little.

“Not like that, you pervert.”

Because for all of their revealing conversations, that kind of physical intimacy is not something they’ve really broached. He’s been glad for it, he thinks.

“Just to sleep. I want to sleep with you there.”

“I don’t sleep,” he reminds her,

She smiles wider. “I know.”

Then she wheedles him onto the dance floor and for the first time, he’s not bitter or angry about the whole thing. And later that night they go back to her place and he doesn’t sleep really, but with her spread across his chest he’s still for the longest time yet.

“I can see it,” he whispers to her sleeping form. “You make me see it.”

He won’t admit it, even under torture, but she makes him want it too.


	25. Chapter 25

Christmas morning, she wakes him before he’s ready. The wedding had gone late into the night and while he doesn’t sleep much, he can’t lie and say he hadn’t been exhausted. But she’s wearing her serious face, so he climbs from the bed and pulls his clothes on.

Sometimes, when he looks back on their month together, he looks at everything she’s shared. He looks at all the pieces of her life he’s collected in twenty-five days and he feels honoured and blessed in ways he hasn’t in a very long time. When it comes down to it, he needs her; he knows that now, values it and wants to keep it wrapped tight to his chest.

So he keeps to himself as they get ready, tries not to be disturbed by how utterly somber and sad Kensi is for a morning that should be filled with happiness and joy. He gets her coffee while she showers, manages to keep from dismantling her toaster oven while he waits anxiously and then climbs in the passenger’s seat of her SUV. She drives and drives and drives, out of the chaos that is Los Angeles and then further. When they eventually stop, it’s in a clearing in what Callen can only call a forest.

Still, he lets her lead.

She needs this, he’s realized, whatever this is. Whatever it is they’re doing it’s important to her, so even though he wants to reach for her, protect her from whatever it is that has her so obviously upset, he lets her lead. And is rewarded when she slides her arm around his waist, pulls him into her side as they walk.

“It’s called a memory garden,” she says in a low murmur as she leads him down a well-worn path. “It’s not as striking in daylight but I can’t come at night.”

He doesn’t get it. Not until they finally step into a massive clearing that is utterly scattered with tiny tea lights. Some are burning, some have obviously burnt themselves out. He can imagine it, he thinks, when it’s totally dark, the whole place only lit by flickering flames. She slides a bill into a box and carefully counts out four of the tiny candles.

“It’s a pretty easy idea,” she says. “I can’t remember when I found it. I think Jack brought me here. Before.”

Before everything.

He has to run a hand down her back, has to offer her some sort of comfort. It’s so painfully obvious that this hurts her. He opens his mouth to ask, to try and wrap his head around why she does this when it hurts her so much. She beats him to it.

“You light a candle for everyone who can’t be with you for Christmas,” she says, and there’s only a little hitch to her voice. She holds out the candles, swallows thickly. “Four.”

It breaks his heart. Four people that can’t be with her for the holidays. His chest feels full, aches with the pain that’s so obvious in her shaking hands.

“Kens-“

She shakes her head and leans down, lights each candle from one already flickering in the gentle breeze. She reaches for his hand and he can’t keep himself from weaving his fingers between hers.

“My dad always used to say that love is patient and kind, that it never requires you to right wrongs, never keeps track of the bad things. You can just depend on it; know that it’ll always be there no matter what. That it just endures all the good and all the bad. It’s just there. It never wavers, it never fails.”

She pulls him closer, wraps herself around him. He holds her back, aware of too much, of pain and grief and a dreadful loneliness he feels less acutely when he buries his face in her hair.

“Why four?” he asks quietly, can’t help it.

“My dad,” she begins. “Jack. Laura. Owen.”

He swallows. One of those names sticks with him, a man who is still alive. A man whose candle could be non-existent. So he has to ask.

“Do you ever think about going back?”

“Sorry?”

Callen looks away. His chest is tight, too tight, because her answer to this matters more than he’s willing to admit outloud. He thinks maybe this is a make or break moment and he doesn’t quite understand why. “To Jack. Do you ever think about going back?”

“You mean finding him? No.”

He’s a little surprised she doesn’t even have to think about it.

“I did. Try, I mean. In the early days. I mean, I respected the whole needing to get away thing but then after a while… I couldn’t keep myself from it.”

Well that’s a sentiment Callen can understand at least. Sometimes he checks up on old teammates, old flames. Not often. More often he checks up on his archenemies in foreign prisons. Nature of the job though.

“I almost contacted him too. But, I couldn’t. It wasn’t what he wanted. And I hadn’t moved, nothing had changed. He could have always found me.”

Yeah, what an idiot. PTSD or not, Callen thinks that if it was Kensi helping him heal, he most certainly wouldn’t even think about walking away.

He hears her chuckle and cannot believe those are words he’d said aloud. When he looks at her, she shrugs.

“I don’t know if he was an idiot,” she says. “Either way, he made his choice.” She slides a hand tentatively over his waist until her arm is wrapped around him. “And I like to think I’ve moved on.”

The smile blossoms across his face slowly, and then all at once, a bright beaming thing that hurts his cheeks. “I shouldn’t be your choice.”

“Huh,” she retorts, pinching his hip. “Guess it’s a good thing it’s not up to you then.”

It’s not and he knows that, loud and clear. He can’t let her go. He won’t let her go. Ins and outs, ups and downs, Kensi Blye will be a woman he fights for.

“Come on,” he says before the emotion can make him do something stupid. “I’ll buy you chocolate.”

They leave the garden the same way they came, arm-in-arm, together.

Twenty-five days ago, he couldn’t have anticipated meeting a woman like Kensi. Now he can’t wait to start a new year with her.


End file.
